


If the World is Still There

by ElProfessor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual John Murphy (The 100), Blindness, Bruises, Dark, Depressing, Deviates From Canon, Disability, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Gouging, F/M, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, John Murphy-centric (The 100), Love Triangles, M/M, Minor Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Minor John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Murphy-centric, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV John Murphy (The 100), Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Episode: s01e10 I Am Become Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bellamy Blake, Season/Series 01, Self-Hatred, So Dark, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Trauma, Unrequited Love, Whipping, Whump, also too romantic for its own good, has no right being a weird love triangle, maybe it's a square, or square, really dark and depressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElProfessor/pseuds/ElProfessor
Summary: He wondered about the intrinsic worth of a human being. He wondered if it was something his mental and physical scarring had cost him. He wondered if he’d ever even had it in the first place.He’d spent so many years in the Sky Box being told he was a waste of oxygen. Now, there was an inconceivably vast, renewable store of fresh air, but he felt like more of a waste of it than ever.Or, the one where the torture Murphy undergoes at the hands of the grounders is far, far worse and he finds himself having to adjust to living on an Earth he can no longer see.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Clarke Griffin/John Murphy, John Murphy/Raven Reyes
Comments: 61
Kudos: 186





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, this deviates from canon quite a bit, because I'm not super fond of trying to stick to canon, as it feels like a waste of time. I mean, we've all seen the show, right? So, there's none of that biological warfare stuff and there will be no Mount Weather. This is very much character-driven and not plot-driven. Hopefully you enjoy it, though, and thank you for reading.

The ground here was soft, he could feel his toes pressuring the dirt and forming pathways. The grasses nipped his ankles, hungry for him to lie amongst them. The air was crisp, facing winter but desperately clinging to the last weak warmth of autumn.

He wondered if the trees would engulf him, and he wished for it. He longed for their tall wooden bodies to rob him of his own fragile flesh.

He was going to die here.

Surrounded by unseen life and an inconsequential sky. Hearing the beat of his own heart, the noise unexpectedly loud even as the formless birds fought to drown it out with their misplaced songs.

It'd be alright to die here.

It was as good a place as any.

He tripped. Over what he could not say, but his limbs sprawled out around him, arms now wet and itchy from the greenery trying to caress them. The bones in his knees felt jarred and tired.

He wondered what good getting up would do him.

He found that a person does not need eyes to cry, and he was surprised. 

It stung, though, that peculiar liquid slipping down his marred cheeks. He was glad no one was there to see him. He hoped no one would ever have to see him again and was, for the briefest moment, almost glad to go unseen by even himself.

He’d walked too far to give in to the soft ground and the hungry grasses now. He moved on his hands and knees, getting dirty as a toddler, until his fingers brushed bark and he used one of those strong wooden bodies to hoist himself back onto his calloused feet.

He started walking again, though to where he did not know. Or perhaps he did, though he hated to admit his utter lack of options to himself.

There was only one place he could go on this plane. His footfalls were either taking him closer to the dropship or death.

He thought he’d much prefer death, but yet every step was a sign of life and his stubborn will to cling to that which his parents had first given him, even though he no longer wanted it.

He wondered why he was out here, away from the tools and the questions and the pain. He wondered what it meant that they had released him.

Perhaps it was their last taste of torture. Perhaps they’d cursed him with his freedom.

Now he was free to wander the world until it finally checked him. Free to stumble aimlessly until his feet brought him to a cliff and his brains willfully dashed themselves against the waiting rocks below.

That sounded like painful way to go out. But pain was a word without a meaning to him now. He could feel it, but it could no longer touch him. He and it were too well acquainted for any of its visits to be a bother.

He idly considered screaming. If he was lucky, something would hear him and come along to take him into its smooth, large mouth and chew him up until his memories were just meat and bone.

If he was unlucky a grounder would hear him. Drag him away into another den of tools and questions and friendly pain. He wondered if all of them would relish in the sight of his skin coming off his body and his blood trickling into a pretty red pool. It was hard for him to believe there were any good grounders out there. Or maybe there weren’t really any kind people _period_ in this world. None at all.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had had a gentle touch. What was the last warm word? Who’d been the last to care?

All he remembered was seat belts and fingernails craning back at awkward angles before finally drifting away and leaving only the screams of a boy who had still had so very much to learn about pain and all that it could be for him.

His feet were sleepy. His whole body yearned to retreat in on itself and fade to the black it saw around it.

He couldn’t keep walking. He’d come so far to wind up god knows where, but his journey ended here. What was it the grounders said at such times?

Ah yes.

Yu gonplei ste odon.

How hated the sound of that. He didn’t even know what it meant, really, but he hated it because he hated them.

So, he wouldn’t say that to himself. He’d go quietly. Give in like it was all a great compromise between him and this brutal planet.

He needn’t close his eyes to sleep. That was one of the perks of not having any.

***

* * *

When he woke up, he heard screaming, but it was not his own. He’d fallen asleep with his back against a tree, so it wasn’t hard to get on his feet again.

He was surprised to still be alive. Almost dismayed, but he hardly had time to think of it, what with the shouting and chattering being so very near.

He felt a bit panicked, wondering who had screamed and why, but having no real means by which he could get himself some answers.

“Mu…Murphy?”

A woman’s voice. Strained and terrified.

The world had kindly and speedily supplied him with the answers he’d sought. He was the cause of the scream. He who again wished to forevermore go unseen and sink away until he was no longer a blight upon those lucky enough to still have eyes.

He didn’t say anything, not knowing what he would if he did. He wasn't even sure who he would be speaking to, so he deemed it best to stand solid as the tree behind him and silent as it, too.

“Murphy…” the voice drew closer, though he could sense its revulsion and the hesitancy such disgust naturally created. “What…what happened?”

Rather ballsy question. Bold of her to assume he would answer; that he could so much as bear the thought of telling another human about the scraping sounds and the anticipation.

But she had always been quite bold, hadn’t she? Good old Clarke Griffin.

Her voice was distantly familiar, like something he’d once heard in a dream. Yet it was easy to identify it, and he was certain his assumption was correct. There was simply something about her that refused to be mistaken for any other soul. Some force of will and tone of voice that was distinctly Clarke Griffin.

“Clarke?” he rasped, knowing but still seeking confirmation. His own voice was so damn harsh, nearly lost in the breeze. It'd been stripped and taunted by hoarse screams until little of it remained.

“Yes, it’s Clarke,” she whispered back, her tone as soft as that reserved for children. “Murphy, should I…do you want me to take you back to camp?”

He wished she’d stop saying his name. Stop reaffirming who he was, as though his whole identity was in question simply because his outward appearance had been irrevocably altered.

He considered her question, though. Weighed the desires of an empty stomach against the fear of coming in contact with those who had gifted him to the wild and the inhumane wolves who lurked just behind the tall, tall trees.

He nodded slowly, feeling like that small, scared child Clarke thought she was addressing.

He felt a hand on his arm, and nearly fled his body from the shock of it. He hadn’t been touched since…

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice so very close, her hand on his half-healed skin. “You're safe now, I promise.”

There was nothing genuine in her words except her pity, but he didn’t fault her for them. They were the same lies anyone would have told him.

He could hear her first step, the weight of her on discarded leaves and rich soil. She gently prompted him forward, keeping hold of his arm as she stepped through the forest with the surefootedness of the sighted.

“We’re here,” she told him less than a minute later.

So, he really had walked so far and come so close. Last night he’d just about made it.

She didn’t let go of him even as they stepped into camp. He could hear the bustle, the whispers, the deep-set panic, and he knew it was all for him. Uneasy, tremulous voices creating a humdrum of anxious noise was his welcome home party.

But then again, he’d never thought of this place as home.

Clarke kept walking, ignoring it all like it was beneath her. Like he was her priority, despite that he was her burden.

He had to climb up an incline and then the air felt different, restrained and cut off from the expanse. His footsteps echoed with a metallic sound and he knew he was in the dropship. It was almost sad that sussing that out felt like an accomplishment.

“Here, it’s a hammock, Murphy, sit down.”

His body was sore, and his feet were crying again, so he obliged, though the soft swinging of the uncertain seat beneath him was dizzying and made him feel like he was going to tumble off of the edge of the world.

“Do you want something to eat? Some water?”

He hurriedly nodded, glad that she was offering rather than waiting for him to put in a request for such necessities.

“Ok. Wait right there, I’ll be right back.”

She looked over him for an uncomfortable amount of time, as though she were the one who was blind and directionless, ignorant of what her next step should be in her dealings with such a frightening liability.

He waited, kicking his legs out in front of him, and feeling the hammock shift beneath him. He had overcome his fear of it and was brave now.

He heard footsteps come close, but no words accompanied them. Someone was watching him, trying to go unnoticed and thinking that because he couldn’t see that they wouldn’t exist for him.

“Let me guess…Bellamy?” He was almost grinning, it was all so ridiculous. He’d become an exhibit the curious stood across the room to see but feared to get too close to.

“Y-yeah…How’d you know?”

Murphy didn’t want to dignify that with an answer, or rather, he wasn’t sure he had an answer to offer. Bellamy had been an easy assumption to make, the only one that made sense.

Bellamy didn’t speak for a long time, seemingly waiting for an unwilling Murphy to contribute to the conversation. Finally, he gave up and whispered, “The grounders…did this to you, didn’t they?”

Murphy did grin then. Because of course Bellamy’s first concern would be for that which threatened the 100. Murphy was just a cautionary tale to him. Always had been.

Someone to be hung and made an example of.

Murphy thought he might’ve killed Bellamy then and there had he been able to see him.

“It’s funny. I told them everything that they wanted to know after they started cutting into me, but even that didn’t stop them. They were having too much fun.”

He really wished he could see Bellamy’s facial expression. He wanted to see Bellamy’s eyes tremble, his teeth nibble on his lips, his eyebrows duck downwards.

“Murphy, I didn’t…”

Footsteps came then, cutting off whatever it was Bellamy had been trying to voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring much, Murphy. You look like you haven’t eaten anything in awhile, and I don’t want to make you sick. Also, food is always somewhat scarce around here.” Clarke had never spoken to him like this before. Never had her words been so dolled up in silk and satin. But you couldn’t very well nag a cripple, now could you?

“Here, water first.” He felt a hand around his, wrapping his fingers around a cold cup and making sure that he had a firm grip on it. 

He lifted the cup to his mouth, sipping silently, thinking heavily. The water was bittersweet, quenching his thirst and giving love to his dry, dry throat, but scratching its rough patches as it went down. He finished what she had given him and felt the cup disappear from his hands in order to be replaced by a large handful of little round things that clinked and clanked together in his palms. They were smooth yet textured and ridged, like wood. He lifted one to his mouth, taking a great leap of faith as he bit it in half and felt that discrete, nutty taste hit his tongue.

“Thanks,” he finally whispered, the quiet around him seeping into his bones and making him worry that the world he could not see had finally swallowed itself.

“Mmm,” Clarke hummed in response, her voice coming from behind him now. “Would it be alright it I tend to some of your…injuries while you eat?”

“Yeah, sure…” The thought of her wandering fingers on his sliced, oozing skin didn’t much appeal to him. The last time he’d seen his own body, even he had had to look away. There’d been a rainbow of colors that didn’t belong on a body, he remembered. Purples and yellows and deep, thick reds. Was it stupid to still be ashamed of the colors even now that he could not see them?

“Bellamy, would you please go get me some supplies? You know where I keep them, don’t you?”

There was no answer save for a set of retreating footsteps. Maybe a nod, though Murphy could only speculate about such a thing.

“Anywhere you want me to start?” Soft words again. Intended for ears which must now be considered fragile and broken from the loss of their vision-inducing brethren. “What hurts the most?”

Murphy almost scoffed. How could he possibly tell here in the midst of a sea of hurts that blended and danced together like gay partygoers? “Nothing,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t matter.”

He ate another nut, trying to identify what exactly he was eating. Almonds? Perhaps. Though now even something so simple had become a nearly unsolvable mystery.

More footsteps, heavy boots with a man in them pounding against the thin metal of the ship.

“Thanks,” Clarke whispered. There was the sound of something being unzipped and then a bit of ruffling. “Ok, Murphy, I’m going to just clean your back first.”

His back. The first landscape to be charted by fast leather and uneven shredding. He could remember most distinctly the sound of it, of the whip slapping against his skin falling into rhythm with the screams he could only stifle for so long.

Clarke's hands felt cold as they rubbed something wet and antiseptic against his last rough reserves of skin. Though it stung, there was a relief in it, an instinctual sigh, as finally, finally someone was trying to heal rather than break him.

“You’re too warm, Murphy, I think some of these are infected.” Her voice was apologetic, the sort which was clearly trying to compensate for the bad news it accompanied.

He was hardly surprised. Given the conditions, of course they were infected, it’d be shocking if they weren’t. There was in the spaces of it all the lack of a bathroom, the lack of showers, and the sheer prevalence of dirt and grime.

“Ok,” he croaked, hating his voice and the way it sounded now. It was all he had left of himself, and he hardly recognized it. “Does that mean I’ll die?” A question like any other, really. One he did want an answer to, yes, though he couldn’t say whether it was a yes or no he was seeking. He viewed himself as rather impartial and agreeable about the matter.

He could hear Clarke’s breath hitch, her head audibly shook, long hair brushing fast against firm shoulders. “No, not now. I wouldn’t let that happen. I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

She seemed to like making impossible promises. Perhaps they gave her a sense of control over the cosmic forces that a million well-intentions couldn’t keep at bay were the universe to collide against them.

He wondered what to say in response. He found himself at the familiar crossroads, the never-ending debate between the virtues of the truth and the social acceptability of a comforting lie. Perhaps it wasn’t what she would want to hear, but he settled on saying, “It’s alright if I do. I don’t mind.”

He wondered about the intrinsic worth of a human being. He wondered if it was something his mental and physical scarring had cost him. He wondered if he’d ever even had it in the first place.

He’d spent so many years in the Sky Box being told he was a waste of oxygen. Now, there was an inconceivably vast, renewable store of fresh air, but he felt like more of a waste of it than ever.

The hands on his back were rubbing in something creamy and smooth now, and he could immediately feel it working to provide relief to every area it touched.

“Well, I’d mind.” Such small, uncertain words, like it was a question she was posing to herself. He could hear the unspoken, ‘ _should I say this? Do I mean it?’_ slumbering behind the characteristic Clarke Griffin need to nourish and bolster.

It’d be rude to scoff, he figured. He scoffed anyway. “I’m sure.”

Her hands stopped moving, stopped painting little circles in poultice, and slipped off his back. “I never wanted any harm to come to you, you should know that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, done with the conversation and the way it made his stomach shift and twist inside of him.

There was material stretching against his waist now, sticky and tight once it was wrapped around his abdomen. She did it a few times, covering his body from navel to chest.

“Arms now.” She repeated the process on a smaller, skinnier scale. His sliced-up arms were entwined in bandages, making him feel like a mummy and limiting their functionality even more than his taut, restrictive skin did. It began to feel like eternities would pass and suns would burn out before Clarke finished tending to his ruined form.

She paused after that, silent for a moment that made his heart beat fast with anticipation. He saw each new moment as an opportunity for another knife to stab into his skin or another spoon to…

So, silence had become something smothering, something to fear.

“Murphy,” finally a word, even if it was just his name again and again, repeated on her lips so many times it had lost all meaning, “Would it be alright if I…um, took your pants off so I could look at your legs?” It was almost cute how shy she sounded. Bashful as though she believed he still had any pride. Every inch of him was as ugly as the next, at this point why would he care how much she saw?

“Go ahead.”

“Ok.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and he could feel each of them individually brush over the veins lying just below his skin. “Stand up, please, I’ve got you.” Patronizing. It was shit being looked down upon and not being able to return the gaze.

Despite the low-level irritation brewing within him, he obediently got to his feet. He didn’t have enough fight left to fuss over such little things anymore. His world had become narrow, and as a result, only the deepest troughs were worth taking note of. Peaks, on the other hand, well he didn’t expect any of those. Though, he suspected he’d appreciate even the smallest hints of light in his dark world now.

He clumsily unbuttoned his pants and felt them immediately tumble down around his ankles. It was as though they’d been waiting for this moment where they could finally slide off the body they had recently become too big and baggy for. Unfortunately, his pants dragged his loose boxers down with them and he soon found himself unexpectedly naked from tip to toes.

“Well shit. I didn’t mean to do that.” So maybe he did have some pride left after all, or at least, enough that he felt the need to make it clear that he hadn't been intending to expose himself without warning to Clarke and…was Bellamy still here, too?

“It’s fine, Murphy.”

It should have been a funny situation, he figured, and in any other world it would have been. In this one, though, he knew what Clarke was seeing and knew why she couldn't laugh.

“God…I didn’t think…I never imagined anyone could be capable of this.”

He felt like she was speaking through him, and thus wasn't at all surprised when Bellamy whispered, “Me neither, if I had I would never have…I would never have banished you, Murphy.”

Bellamy could get under his skin as well as any knife. Murphy couldn’t stand him, couldn’t take his stupid, too late, half-baked apologies. He refused to have to listen to such utter shit. “Fuck off and get out, Bellamy, please?” He didn’t raise his voice, because he hardly had enough voice left to raise, and all things considered he thought he was really being quite polite in his request.

“Murphy-"

“Bellamy, just give him space, god knows he deserves it.”

He heard Bellamy’s retreating footsteps, angry and fast, louder than they had any need to be. The sound of them wasn’t as satisfying as he’d thought they'd be.

Clarke was uncharacteristically quiet as she got to work cleaning his legs. Murphy couldn’t seem to get his body to stop shivering despite that he wasn’t at all cold. He felt moisture collecting in the corners of the empty sockets where eyes had once nestled.

“Clarke,” he finally whispered, once the silence became too much, once he felt like he was on the verge of spiraling down a breathless abyss he would never be able to climb back up from.

“Yeah?” She sounded hesitant, like she was afraid of what he would ask of her. 

“Sorry…It’s just…It’s stupid, but talk? If you can. About anything, I don’t care, I just…” He wasn’t sure how to explain it without sounding like a fragile fool. Though perhaps it didn’t matter if he did, surely by now she knew he was fragile, and surely, she'd always known he was a fool. “I don’t like silence right now.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Then…Sorry, I’m drawing a blank on what to talk about…Well, I guess I should fill you in on what’s been happening?” She was rubbing that cream about his legs now and it felt good on his burns. He wanted badly to sit, as his feet were still crisp and calloused, but he was afraid it would interfere with Clarke's process, so he forced himself to keep standing. 

“So, we got in contact with the Ark, finally. Despite _your_ best efforts,” there was a hint of humor in her voice there, and even he couldn’t help but snicker at her words. “The first ship landed yesterday, but it didn’t go right…There were…there weren’t any survivors.” Her voice was catching now; her grief becoming a tangible thing that made him shift and squirm uncomfortably. “And also, we’re basically at war with the grounders, no surprise there, I’m sure. So, things haven’t been great. I really have no good news to offer you.”

“I’m sorry about your mom…” He said it because it felt like the right thing to say. And really, because he meant it, too. He hadn’t wanted Clarke to lose her mother, he knew how that felt, how that hurt.

“It’s…well, not fine, no, but I’m coping. I have no choice. All we can do is survive day by day down here, isn’t it? So much for the uninhabited paradise we imagined when we stepped off this dropship…”

She finished tending to his legs and he next felt her hands on his ass, which certainly came as a surprise. He very nearly jumped out of his sliced skin.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed hurriedly. “Should’ve warned you, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered in response, the words more for himself than her. He was vulnerable and bare right now, yes. But that was alright. It was okay, because Clarke wouldn’t hurt him. She wouldn’t. It'd be okay. It would.

He tried to regain control over his breathing, not wanting her to wonder why touching him there at set him so ill at ease. Though, really, he knew he was probably not kidding anyone. Looking at the raw skin there, she must already know.

“Murphy…Do you…do you want to talk about any of it?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I’ve heard it can help.”

“Don’t start with this, please. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I never will.”

“Ok. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pressure you into anything. I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to keep apologizing. I’m not upset.”

“Good. I wouldn't want to upset you.” Her voice suddenly grew closer to his ears and he could tell that it was coming from in front of him again. “Now…”

“Are you done?” He wasn't trying to sound impatient, because he really wasn't, in fact, he wasn't even sure what he'd do with himself once she completed her mission and abandoned ship. Being alone in the quiet was going to be rough. So no, he wasn't impatient, merely curious.

“No, I should…Do something about your face and your ey…I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” he assured her, not enjoying listening to the way she was stammering and trying to avoid stepping on the landmines she seemed to sense lurking within his brain. “And really you don’t need to do anything.”

“I should. I just don’t know what, because I mean, obviously I’ve never seen…this before, but I should do something.”

“It doesn't matter. I can't picture it getting any worse than it already is.”

One of her hands came up to his face, cupping his jaw and forcing him to tilt his head up. Her thumb began brushing back and forth across his cheek, and he couldn't see any reason for it to do such a thing.

“I’m at least going to treat those cuts.” The now so familiar feeling of her purging his skin of its deeply engrained filth followed, and he found himself leaning into her touch, taking comfort from it despite himself. 

A few moments of a more soothing sort of silence followed, and he found that with her hand on his face as an anchor, keeping him certain of his own existence, he could cope with the quiet.

“Done,” she finally whispered, her soft touch dropping away from his rough skin. It felt sudden, losing that contact so quickly. He heard her take a step back, and he felt his fears of a still, silent world come bearing down upon him again. “Do you need anything else, Murphy?”

He needed a world of something elses. He wanted whatever kindnesses the world was willing to offer him. But Clarke, unlike him, was a valuable asset, an important person with important things to do, and he knew he couldn’t hold her back. He leaned down to grasp the hem of his pants and pull them back up from around his ankles and he hesitantly whispered, “No. But, um…thank you, Clarke…”

“No problem, Murphy. And please, I can’t stress this enough, have someone come get me if you _do_ realize you need something. Anytime of day, it doesn’t matter, if something feels wrong, or more wrong than it does now, I mean, tell me. Ok?”

He nodded and gracelessly sat back down on the hammock, feeling it wobble beneath his minimalistic mass.

“Good. Then…I should really go take care of some stuff around camp…”

“I think I can survive without you for a bit, Clarke. Shoo.” He lifted his hands and flicked his wrists out in what he hoped was the correct gesture to prompt someone to scat. Not that her leaving was actually something he was looking forward to, but more because he knew it was an inevitability and he wanted to play it cool. Couldn’t make a deal out of it lest she start thinking her presence made any sort of difference to him. And it wasn’t her presence, not really. It was just that he liked having another voice and body next to him, one that he trusted to speak to him soft and touch him gently.

“Ok, ok, I’m going.”

And she did, her footsteps light and purposeful on the metal, the last sound he heard before he found himself truly alone.

He didn’t stay alone for long.

“Clarke!? You in here?” It was a girl’s voice, loud, low, and somewhat irritated sounding. Not the least bit familiar, either. He wished he knew where a good place to hide was. He didn’t want to be seen by this random woman, didn’t want to be so helpless and visible in front of her.

Her footsteps and voice died away suddenly, and he could hear her swallow.

“Hi.” He figured it’d be more awkward if he didn’t say anything. Being the weird, eyeless freak on the hammock was bad, sure, but being the weird, mute, eyeless freak would be even worse, he’d bet.

“H…hi. Um…”

Natural reaction, of course it was. He’d just have to get used to the fact that from here on out regular conversations were all but an impossibility for him. Rare were those who would even view him as a fellow humanoid, let alone one worth speaking to or acknowledging. 

“Well, Clarke isn’t here, as you can see,” he informed her, annoyance seeping into his tone. He was sorry he’d offended her presumably pretty little eyes by calling their attention to something as horrendous as himself. 

“Right. Oh well, we’re not on the best terms right now, anyway. I’ll just leave it to someone else to tell her what’s what. Now…” Footsteps, close ones, closer with every step. “You are?”

“John Murphy. You?”

“Raven Reyes. I thought I was the newest one here, is that no longer the case?”

“Me? No, I’ve been here since day one, but Bellamy banished me. Wait, new here? How? You aren’t… _from_ the ground, are you?”

“Nah, I came down in a little ship I patched up. Was meant to be the go-between for you guys and those in the sky, but that didn’t work out perfectly. Thanks to Bellamy, who is a real dick by the way, isn’t he?”

Murphy found his lips turning up at the corners for the first time in an age. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“So, why’d he banish you, though, huh? Should I be concerned?”

“Mmm, because I’m sure I look damn intimidating right now.”

She laughed and it was a good sound to hear, one that lacked that dose of begrudging pity he had become so accustomed to. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t already like this Raven girl, that he couldn’t already sense something about her that made him half-forget he wasn’t whole.

“I guess technically, as Bellamy would tell it, I tried to have a child executed. Oops.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Her laughter was inappropriate now, but inexplicably she was still chuckling, and oddly enough, he was too. He almost couldn’t believe he was still capable of making such a stupid, cheerful sound.

“No. But in all fairness she had just killed someone for like no reason whatsoever, and happened to have used my knife to do the deed, so naturally, I was strung up and hung. Then, as I’m hanging there, like fucking dying, she steps forward and is like, hold up, actually I’m the real killer. Since she’s five years younger than me or whatever, though, apparently she has a spare get away with murder free card lying around or something? So, I tried to get her hung, which doesn’t make me sound great, no, but I don’t really give a shit. She wound up killing herself and then Bellamy kicked me out of camp. Sweet story, really.”

“That’s…something, John Murphy. Something for sure. But what’re you doing back here, then?”

Of course, she’d been bound to slip up sometime. Their conversation had been going unnaturally well and he'd almost started to feel at ease, so of course now she had to ask a question like this. One that triggered one of those landmines Clarke had tried so hard to avoid.

“What do you think, Reyes? I lost my fucking eyes, where was I supposed to go?” He felt hot and odd, had he not suspected such feelings to be a result of his emotions, he may have considered calling Clarke in.

“Hmm. Yes, I definitely see how that could be a problem.”

She…Shit, she was incredible. The balls on this girl! He was fucking laughing again, and he had no idea what sort of voodoo she was working to make him feel like he was human again, to make him feel like laughter was something he was capable of.

“You’re unbelievable…”

“As in you can’t believe how amazing I am? Because I do get that one quite often.”

“Something like that,” he admitted, wondering if she’d notice if his discolored cheeks became redder than they already were.

She didn’t speak for a sliver of an awkward moment and then she suddenly asked, “You want moonshine? Monty and Jasper perfected their recipe. Or, ok, no, saying they perfected it is too generous, I’ll just say it exists and does the job it’s meant to do.”

He thought about his mother for a fleeting second. Stupid alcohol and its stupid wiles. But he didn’t care about addiction or death or the harsh words his mother puked out for him then flushed down the toilet until he no longer knew love from lies. Not now. He just wanted to be lost in a drink. To be gone from himself and floating down a river of lazy intoxication.

“Please.”

She made a clicking noise and then said, “Gotcha,” before walking away with footsteps so mellow he could hardly hear them.

She didn’t stay gone for long, and when she reappeared she thrust a nice cold, big cup into his hands. “Bottoms,” she cheered, clinking another cup against it and jarring him a bit as a result, though he was doing his best not to freak out and look pitiful in front of the one person who hadn’t garnered vast reserves of pity specially made for him.

“Thanks,” he told her, taking a long, rough sip that stung his throat like hell, tasted like shit, and made him regret every decision he’d ever made.

“Ha. Yeah, it’s shit, but it’s all we’ve got,” Raven informed him with another quiet burst of laughter.

“I’ve had worse,” he told her truthfully, taking another prolonged sip despite himself.

“Of course, you have, cowboy,” she mumbled, sarcasm tangible enough in her tone that he didn’t feel like he was missing something vital from not being able to see her expression. “Now, I must bid you ado my friend, because I’ve got a bomb to build, but I promise I will be back soon to hear about more murder and mishap, yeah?” She didn’t sound tipsy, just kind, and he felt stupidly let down by her coming departure. So caught up in her leaving was he, that it didn’t occur to him to ask what the bomb would be for.

“Oh, ok. Have fun with that, then. See you round, or not see you, but you know…”

“Smell me? Yeah, I get it. Hard to find chances to bathe, isn’t it? No need to point it out, though.” And with that and a flash of quick footsteps she was gone, leaving him wondering what she looked like and somehow knowing without question that she was beautiful.

***

* * *

**This will probably be a rough ride. I have quite a bit of it written, but I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to post. I'll do my best, though.**

**Also, I'm still sort of trying to figure out what the endgame couple should be? So I guess, if you have an opinion feel free to leave a comment and fell me your vote: Murphamy, Murven, or Clarphy? Not saying I'll necessarily write the one that gets the most votes, but depending on how this goes, I'll at least try.**

**Even if you don't want to vote, please do leave a comment, they make my day every single time.**

**And thank you all so damn much for reading. Really appreciate it.**


	2. Pissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is about peeing. Seriously. But not in a weird way.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed between his present moment and that in which Raven left. His whole world had adopted the pleasant foggy feeling of being deep in a bottle and all the heavy, hard things felt of less consequence now. Being blind and drunk made him feel like he didn’t exist. But in a pleasant way. Like he’d never been born, and he’d never been hurt.

There _was_ one small problem, though. He had to pee. Like urgently.

Which would under any other circumstances be fine. Under these ones, though, it sounded like a perilous journey he may never come back from. So much so, that he briefly considered urinating in the drop ship, but discovered that somehow despite that his supply of fucks was dangerously low, his inhibitions were doused in booze, and his sore, aching body was telling him it was a great idea, he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was already embarrassed enough of his current condition as it was, he wasn’t exactly looking to add “ _has begun peeing indoors right next to where he sleeps_ " to his resume.

He pulled himself to his feet, holding on to the unsteady hammock to keep his balance until he was sure his useless legs were going to at least try to support him. There was an inherent terror in taking steps without knowing exactly where they would bring you. An insurmountable fear that made him wish he had a cane or some shit that could at least provide him some small sense of security against walking into walls and tripping over misplaced shoes. Ah yes, and speaking of shoes, having a pair of those would have been handy. He was sorely unprepared and underqualified for the task at hand, honestly.

He set his right hand against the cold steel of the ship, though the wall was smooth and didn’t provide him with anything to grip should his steps suddenly go off kilter. He stretched his other hand out in front of him, moving it from side to side in an attempt to keep the other walls and various obstacles that may be in his way at bay.

He felt chilled air brush against his cheeks and nodded, pleased with himself. He’d found outside, at least. That was a good start.

He could hear voices, indistinct and plentiful drifting in from the camp in front of him. Not knowing where they came from or who they belonged to bothered him and made him take slower, smaller steps.

His outstretched hand bumped against some sort of soft material and he changed directions, opting to go right. He wondered if anyone was watching him right now. There was no way of knowing, and the thought made his teeth grind against one another. The camp was a crowded place, surely someone could see him. And surely he looked ridiculously idiotic. His bladder told him he shouldn’t care how he looked, not when there were more pressing matters at hand, but he still cared. He couldn’t stop caring.

So much of his life had been dedicated to the creation and upkeep of an image of someone not to be fucked with. He’d always needed to at the very least appear tough. Looking threatening had been the only thing that kept him from constantly feeling threatened, and now here he was.

This was all so shit that his wonderful, glorious buzz was wearing off, and he was having a hard time breathing. God, if he had a panic attack over needing to pee he would literally kill himself. It didn’t matter that doing so would be difficult, as he hadn’t any means nor the express ability to find such means, he would manage it somehow. If he set his mind to dying, he was sure he could make his dreams come true.

Some of the voices were louder now, almost decipherable, and he could feel something acrid and thick drift into his nostrils. Smoke. And Bellamy’s voice saying, “We need to talk about Murphy, Clarke.”

Murphy almost laughed, almost unable to comprehend what it was he had stumbled upon. Had he, the blind one, really just accidentally snuck-up on those who could see? That was rich, and certainly not an opportunity he'd let pass him by. He immediately dropped down to his knees and crawled forward until felt some more of the soft, taut material he kept coming across. By now he’d realized such material signified a tent, and he figured it’d provide him with enough cover for all his eavesdropping needs.

“What’s there to say?” Clarke asked in response, voice tight and terse as a coiled rope.

“Plenty. For one, how the hell did he manage to find us? Have you thought about that? How could he have blindly made his way from whatever grounder village he was in, through the forest and all the way back here?”

Naturally, Murphy’s first thought concerning that question was, ‘ _fuck you, too, Bellamy,’_ and his next was a simply an indignant, _‘I found it through a shit load of hard work, jackass.’_

Clarke clearly had something different to say. “What are you trying to say, Bellamy? You think he’s in-league with the grounders? That he’s buddy-buddy with the people who brutally tortured him?”

“No, of course not. It’s just weird, that’s all I’m saying.”

They fell silent for a stretched second and Murphy came close to crawling away, thinking they were done talking about him before Bellamy finally spoke up again. “He said he told them everything, what do you think that means?”

“Well it’s not exactly a broad concept, Bellamy. I think it means we should assume anything we know, they know too. Or, at least anything predating Murphy's banishment.”

“Great,” Bellamy mumbled, the word sounding like a sigh or a tired breath of anxiety-ridden air. “We should’ve just killed him.”

Murphy felt his stomach twist and suddenly his full-bladder became altogether unimportant. More pressing was how fast his heart was beating, how dizzy he felt.

“What!? How could you possibly say that?”

“Oh stop. You know I’m right. He’d be better off, and so would we. I thought I was being merciful, but really, the right thing to do would’ve been to just kill him instead of sending him off and asking nature to do the dirty work.”

Oh. God, he couldn’t breathe. Oh God. It was hot, wasn’t it? His hands didn’t feel steady beneath him suddenly and his heart was so loud he was afraid Bellamy would hear it. He suddenly hated his damn heart for beating; maybe they _would_ all be better off it didn’t. Maybe he _should_ find a way to shut it up.

“No. We couldn’t have killed him. Who would we be if we had? And things may be bleak, but it’s better that he’s alive. You don’t really wish him dead, do you, Bellamy?”

Murphy didn’t want to hear his answer, he wanted to sprout wings and fly away. Anything to not be stuck here in the dirt, hiding behind a tent, and listening to someone he’d once looked up to talk about how he regretted sparing his life.

Fortunately, he never did have to hear Bellamy’s answer.

Unfortunately, he instead heard Raven say his name, quite clearly and loudly. Loud and clear enough that Clarke and Bellamy’s conversation came to an extremely abrupt ending.

It had been hard for him to function in those moments that followed. He knew he was running out of air, and he knew that his cheeks were wet, but everything else came and went like a cyclone passing over his head.

“Murphy,” it was Clarke saying it now, not Raven, he wasn’t sure where Raven was. He wished he knew where Raven was. Where was Raven?

“Murphy!” still Clarke. She was unpleasantly loud and unnaturally close. There was a hand on his shoulder that he assumed belonged to her, but really, what did he know? Very little, and nothing for certain.

“Murphy, breathe. Calm down.”

Easy for her to say. She had every reason in the world to breathe, but what did he have? Why should he breathe? Who was she to even ask that of him?

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Murphy, I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry I said what I said. Murphy…” Bellamy was still hanging around, then. Perhaps he was waiting to see if his words had been enough to finally take Murphy over the edge.

Stupidly, inconceivably Murphy found that they were. He’d been dangling over a dizzying precipice for so long, and he’d gotten to the point where the grounders could say or do anything to him, and he knew he could survive it, but being back here and having _his_ people continuing the chain of cruel words and death wishes, it was all so much, too much.

He heard himself make a loud sobbing sound, and he loathed the sound of it. Loathed that now that he didn’t have eyes, he was crying more than ever.

“Raven, what’re you…”

So Raven was still here? God, that was embarrassing. He wished she wasn’t, wished she’d left so that he could think at least someone hadn’t seen his dreadful breakdown and realized what an absolute pansy ass he was.

He felt arms around him, tightly encircling his shoulders and then there was a head against his and loose strands of long hair brushing against his cheek. “I thought we’d already established that Bellamy is an asshole, why would you listen to anything he has to say?”

Murphy wanted to say something, something that would make sense and help her understand how he felt, but his body was currently against the idea of him breathing, much less talking. All he could do, was move into a kneeling position and haphazardly throw his own arms around Raven, feeling like an idiot and a child, but needing so badly to show her what her presence meant to him. He had to tell her so much, but without words, his means of doing so were severely limited.

“Murphy,” Clarke’s voice again, hushed and uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if her words were wanted. He wished he could’ve told her that he wasn’t upset with her, wasn’t upset with anyone, really and that it was just fine for her to speak. “You’re better off alive. You’ll learn to cope with this, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen…I’ve seen my mother with blind patients, they can be just as sad or as happy as anyone else. This doesn’t mean that your life doesn’t have a point anymore, Murphy. I promise.”

He could’ve laughed had he not been choking on tears and air. Another promise. She’d given him so many by this point that he was sure not even she remembered them all. But her words had been kind and she was trying to help, and he couldn’t fault her for that. Maybe in the past he would’ve. Back when he’d still had the luxury of throwing away kind intentions, taking a certain amount of human-regard for granted. Back before he’d been shown how disgusting people could be to each other and gotten used to being treated worse than an unwanted animal. He was starving for kindness now, though. Even he would begrudgingly admit that he was desperate to feel safe and human. So he didn’t care if Clarke’s words were empty or full, all that mattered to him was that they were intended to make him, a fellow human-being, feel better. That meant something.

He felt like he was coming down from space and entering his body again. It felt strange to be able to take in oxygen and push it back out with ease. His heart seemed to be beating incredible slowly, though he suspected this was the proper tempo for it. That it finally wasn’t trying to race out of his chest anymore. 

He still didn’t want to be here, though. Being surrounded by these people right now, sweet as they were, felt like being on fire. He was deeply ashamed of himself for the mess that he was, and he hated that they were still standing there watching him spiral.

And he still fucking needed to piss.

“I um…” somehow he had found his voice again, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to find the words he needed, “Where are the outskirts of camp?”

“Hmm? Why do you want to go there?” Clarke asked him, a hint of concern obvious in her tone.

“To pee,” he stated simply, sick of beating around the bush and extremely sick of this whole ridiculous journey. Not to mention that his bladder was telling him anymore bush-beating would be a bad idea.

“Oh,” Clarke whispered, a short, nervous burst of laughter accompanying her words.

“I’ll take ‘im,” Raven stated, her arms moving away from him for the briefest of moments before they returned to grab onto his arms and help hoist him up to his feet.

She linked their arms together, then, and though it made him feel disgustingly dependent and useless, he also knew that he needed her. He’d gotten nowhere on his own, so he’d just have to overcome the embarrassment he felt and let Raven guide him.

“I’m not sure what Clarke and Bellamy said,” she whispered once they had taken quite a number of steps, “but I think I’m kinda glad you’re alive. I mean, I don’t really know you, no, but I’d like to, and I couldn’t really do that had you died. I mean, I never even would’ve met you. And here’s the thing, John, there’s only one person in the world I’ve ever given much of a shit about, and he…he’s really hurt me, I guess. So I’m currently taking friend applications. Fill one out and I’ll get back to you in a month.”

Murphy’s lips turned up at the corners despite himself. He didn’t want to get close to someone, to be that vulnerable, but currently, he was drowning. He hadn’t had someone who cared in so damn long, not genuinely, anyway. If he could get Raven to care, if he could really pull that off, maybe he’d finally be able to breathe. And besides that, no matter how much he might wish to deny it, he would always need someone. At this point he couldn’t even pee without having someone show him the way, so having a “friend,” or whatever would be great.

“It’s Murphy, by the way. That’s what people call me…” he anxiously sputtered out, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t good at things like this, at normal, amicable conversations. He’d only had a handful of them in his life.

“Ok, Murphy it is, then,” she said agreeably, shuffling to the side for some reason and pulling him along with her. It was like going through an unseen obstacle course for him, a million times worse than groping about in the darkness. “Well we’re on pissing grounds now,” she announced after a few more steps, unblinking their arms and taking a noisy step away from him. “And while I’m out here, I’m going to go, as well.” He heard the sound of her unzipping her pants and the rustling of denim. “At least I know you can’t watch me,” she added cheerfully, laughing at her own joke.

Murphy thought that her words would’ve upset him had they come from anyone else, but as it was, he laughed, too. Soon he could hear the pitter-patter of Raven pissing next to him and he figured he’d better hurry up.

He done this blind plenty of times already, so the whole process went rather smoothly. Having Raven with him did slightly complicate things, though, as he kept worrying she’d look over at him. He wasn’t sure why the fuck she’d want to, but he fretted over the possibility, nonetheless.

Once they’d both finished, Raven put her arm back through his and said, “Come on, I’ll take you back to the drop ship.”

They walked in silence until his feet touched smooth metal and he realized that they’d arrived. He thought he’d ought to say something now. Something like, “Thanks…”

“No problem, idiot,” she responded pushing him onto the hammock and making his heart beat fast. “But next time you need something don’t be a stubborn ‘gotta go it alone bastard’ and just tell someone, ok?”

“Can’t make any promises,” He told her candidly.

She simply scoffed and said, “Of course, you can’t.” After a moment of companionable silence she whispered, “I should go. Goodnight, Murphy.”

Oh, so it was night then? That made everything that had just happened make so much more sense. He was annoyed with himself for not having even been able to figure out what time of day it was. He should’ve been listening for crickets.

No reason to let Raven know he’d been utterly oblivious of that fact, though. “Goodnight, Raven,” he hurriedly told her, knowing that he’d miss her and that it’d be a long night.

Her footsteps disappeared into the distance and he found himself once more left with a lonely silence.

***

* * *

_**Hey! Thank you all so much for reading! Huge, huge, huge thank you to everyone who left a review on the last chapter, they were all so damn kind, wow. Comments always mean a lot to me, so if you want to leave one I'd be super happy. Also thanks for all the kudos, too!** _

_**Sorry this chapter is a bit on the short side, the next one will be longer. I thought about posting them together, but I think it'd be too long it I had. Anyway, I'm thinking about continuing to post every Sunday, maybe? Or trying to, anyway.** _

_**Thanks again!** _


	3. Cane and Abel

“Murphy.”

He bolted up suddenly, caught off-guard by the voice and frustratingly frightened by it.

“Aw, sorry, were you sleeping?”

“It’s fine, Clarke.”

“Ok, well, I need to change your bandages, looks like you’ve bled through some of them.”

“Fun.” He wasn’t even aware that he was still bleeding anywhere. Where was he bleeding? Shouldn’t he be more healed than this? Had he reopened a cut or something? God, it was infuriating not to know the answers to any of his questions.

He heard her make her way behind him, and tensed as he felt her hands on his back, peeling the bandage away from his weeping skin and providing him with a sharp new shockwave of old pain. It wasn’t enough pain to draw any sort of reaction from him, though. He thought he had a rather high threshold for such things now.

“So…seems like Raven's taken a liking to you,” Clarke whispered, her voice half-teasing, half-anxious and breathy.

“Don’t know about that. She’s seems cool, though,” he answered noncommittally, not wanting to let Clarke see how much of an impression the other girl had really left on him.

“She does. Though she doesn’t like me much…” She was cleaning the wounds again, and he mentally groaned, not wanting to go through this whole ordeal all over again. 

“Why not?” he asked, glad that it was at least easier to keep up a conversation with the blonde now, though.

“She didn’t tell you? I’m surprised, I thought she would.”

“Well she didn’t. So go on.”

“I don’t think it’s really my place.”

“You’re terrible. Telling me all that and then not getting to the good part…”

She laughed, running her fingers along his back and spreading that cream about again. He still liked her touch and the soothing effect the poultice had on his skin. “It’s just about Finn. Apparently they’ve been together for ages and she even came down here just for him, but then…Well, Finn and I…I thought we were something, too. Nothing too interesting, really, I guess.”

“I didn’t take Finn for that kind of guy.”

“I didn’t either.”

So Finn was the jackass who’d hurt Raven, then. And he’d hurt Clarke in the process. Jackass.

Those were the only two people he currently liked, so if Finn crossed his path he’d…well, ok, realistically he couldn’t do anything, but if he could’ve, he would’ve at least punched the guy or something.

“I’m sorry about that, then,” he said quietly, meaning it. Clarke had used to get on his nerves big time, what with her obvious privilege and domineering ways, but he didn’t care about those things anymore. She kept doing shit like this for him, kept taking care of him even though she really didn’t have to, and that was what mattered now.

She didn’t say anything for a second, and he wondered if that was that, if they’d stop talking altogether or move on to a different subject. But then she whispered, “You went through a lot, I know. More than I’d ever wish on anyone. And you lost a lot, too, I know. But I think you gained something, too, Murphy. You’re a better person now, aren’t you?”

He shifted uncomfortably beneath the pressure of her words and her hands. He wasn’t sure how to feel, at first, but he soon realized that he didn’t like what she’d said, not at all. He read into her words and saw so much, and whether she had meant them this or that way was irrelevant in the face of how he had interpreted them.

“I…How could you…I don’t fucking care about being a better person, Clarke! I’d rather be a piece of shit that could fucking see! How can you act like what I went through was some great growing process or some shit? You know better than anyone what they did to me!” His chest was heaving and his throat was even sorer than usual by the time he finished yelling. Her hands were no longer on him and he heard footsteps take her farther away.

“Dammit, Murphy, that isn’t what I meant, and you know it! I’m not saying it was all worth it in the end or some shit, I’d be a monster if I did. I was trying to help you look on the bright side and saying that I appreciated how you’ve been acting since you came back. That’s all!”

He’d always had a habit of lashing out at people for one reason or another. He'd always struggled to get along with others. It was no surprise to him that he'd lost it, honestly he was surprised he'd managed to keep ahold of it for as long as he had. That didn’t change the fact that he felt guilty now, though. That he wanted Clarke's touch back and that he didn’t want to hurt her like Finn had.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I overreacted. You were trying to be nice…I’m sorry.”

He heard her laugh and then felt hands on his arms, unrolling the bandages there. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Murphy. You never would have apologized for something like that before.”

“No. I guess I wouldn’t have,” he admitted, shrugging nervously.

“But you did now, so thank you. I think I might be taking a liking to you, too.”

He laughed then, too, pleased that the tense moment had passed and that they were getting along again. “You’ve turned out to be not so bad yourself.”

“I’ll take it. I feel like that’s high-praise coming from you.”

***

* * *

The day was unbelievably boring after Clarke left him. Or at least, it was until Bellamy showed up.

“Murphy…”

“Great. It’s the last person I want to see.”

“Good thing you can’t see me, then.”

Murphy’s jaw dropped, genuinely shocked that Bellamy would say something like that to him, even as a joke. Never mind that Raven had gotten him to laugh by saying similar things. With Bellamy it was different, with Bellamy it just hurt to be reminded of his inadequacy. “Wow. You really are an absolute asshole, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I really am, and I’m sorry. The way I’ve treated you since you got back…I’m just sorry.” The words were soft, almost mumbled. Murphy couldn’t tell if they were said begrudgingly, and he half-wondered if one of the girls had put him up to this.

“All better. You’re forgiven. A simple sorry is enough to make everything alright again,” he caustically stated, wishing he had eyes so he could roll them.

“I didn’t say that it was, did I? But it’s a start at least, isn’t it? I’m trying.”

“Well, big props to you, then. I’m sure you’ve earned karma points by coming here, you can leave now.”

“I’m not here out of obligation, Murphy. I’m here because I’m genuinely sorry. What you heard me say last night was awful and I regret having said it, I really do.”

“Having said it? But not having thought it, because it’s how you really feel. You can’t lie about that. And you know what, Bellamy, I don’t need you to apologize for that, because I think that you’re right.” It was almost hard to get the words out. He’d been thinking a lot about what Bellamy had said, and he’d known from the second he heard the words leave the other man's lips that he agreed. It was difficult to own up to that agreeance, though, and to admit to himself that _surviving_ , which was something he’d worked so hard for and put so much stock into, had been a mistake.

“Murphy…I wasn’t right. No decision I’ve made concerning you has ever been right.”

“Because you should have killed me?”

“Because I should have believed you were innocent.”

“Damn right, you should’ve…I thought we were friends, Bellamy! But you turned on me in a second and you hung me! And then you fucking cast me out! But worse yet, you don’t even give a shit about what happened to me! All you care about is what I might have told the grounders, not about the fact that they raped me or whipped me or scooped out my fucking eyes! So you come in here and you ask me to forgive you? Fuck no! The road goes both ways, I wish I’d killed you, too!” He was breathless, and dizzy, and pissed at himself for having lost control. For having told Bellamy of all people what was eating him alive.

“Oh my God, Murphy…I…You’re right. God, you’re right. I’ve been trying not to think about what happened to you, because I can’t fucking bear it. In the end, it was me banishing you that led to this, I know, and when I saw you yesterday, I felt so guilty I couldn’t breathe. So I tried to pretend like you weren’t…like you didn’t matter. Like you aren’t a fucking seventeen year-old boy who’s been through so much more than I even want to imagine. I’ve been a selfish motherfucker, and I know sorry doesn’t mean shit, but I am. I _am_ sorry. And I wished you dead, because if you were dead I wouldn’t have to feel the immense guilt I do every time I look at you. But I don’t really want you dead, Murphy, I don’t. I could never want you dead.” Bellamy was crying, no, scratch that, he was full-blown sobbing. Between every other word was a sniffle and his voice shook so much that Murphy really had to focus to be able to decipher what it was he was saying.

He didn’t know how to feel about everything Bellamy had said, as the man had said so damn much. More than he could really hope to take in. He got the gist, though, and it left him wanting to cry, as well. He believed every word Bellamy had said. Maybe it was the water-works that had cinched it, but he knew that Bellamy was finally telling him the truth.

They existed together in the most uncomfortable quiet known to man for a moment. He listened to Bellamy continue to sniffle and pant, almost enjoying the sound of it. He liked that Bellamy was weeping over him. Somehow it made him feel like he mattered.

“Bellamy,” he finally whispered, once it seemed like the other's breaths were starting to become more even. “I’ll never forgive you, I don’t think, but I do understand what you’re saying. And…and I guess maybe I don’t want you dead, either now.”

He heard Bellamy snicker before taking an unreasonably deep breath. “Well thanks for that, Murphy. I don’t expect you to forgive me, I wouldn’t forgive me, either. But I want you to know, that I am going to try to make it up to you. No matter how long that might take. So anything you need, Murphy, any slight whim or craving you have, let me know. And, Murphy…I’ve honestly missed you.”

Murphy wanted so badly to hate Bellamy, he wanted to want to wring his stupid neck, but Bellamy’s voice was soft and his words were finally kind and candid, and Murphy found, much to his annoyance, that he couldn’t hate him. He still wanted to be close to him, to be important to him.

“Can’t say I had much time to miss you, Bellamy,” he stated coolly, though he grinned a bit as he said it. “Also, I fucking hate myself for telling you this, because you fully don’t deserve to hear it, but you couldn’t have known what would happen to me when you kicked me out. Had you been able to see the future I know you wouldn’t have sent me off to be tortured, so it’s not like it’s really _all_ your fault and anything.”

“Thank you. I…That means a lot. And had I been able to see the future, I would’ve…I would’ve done anything to stop this from happening.”

“Me too,” Murphy whispered, trying not to think of the life he could have had. Of the severe limitations the world had recently decided to place upon him and their implications. Earth had been vast and hungry enough even before he’d stopped being able to see the visible subtleties that tied it together. Now it was just an endless, un-chartable fog to him, and he missed the unfamiliar sights that had at least made it navigable.

Bellamy expended one last residual sniffle before nearly inaudibly saying, “Of course.”

“Hey, dope! I made you something!” After the intimate, funereal conversation he’d had with Bellamy, Raven's voice, boisterous and upbeat, caught him entirely off-guard. “Wait, am I disrupting something here?”

“No,” Murphy quickly told her, glad that she had put a stop to the abysmal rabbit hole he’d been tumbling into with Bellamy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have danced around the topic of his torture without losing his mind. “Show me what you made.” How long would he keep saying stuff like that? _Show me, see you later, good to see you,_ and a billion other phrases he’d always taken for granted which now felt stupid on his tongue. He knew they still made sense, even if not the literal sort, but they also served to remind him off all the things he now couldn’t literally do.

“I’m going to give you two some space, then,” Bellamy interjected, still sounding somewhat chocked with emotion, and likely just as relieved as Murphy was that they didn’t have to keep discussing such weighty things. “Goodbye, Murphy.”

“Bye, Bellamy,” he said flippantly, trying not to make a big deal out of the fact that they were on amicable grounds again. He listened to Bellamy's footsteps recede as Raven's proceeded towards him.

“So…what was that?” Raven quickly asked him, only half a second after Bellamy's tread had become inaudible.

“I don’t know…” he muttered, shrugging and nervously licking at his cracked lips. “He just said some stuff that…meant something.”

“Good. About time. He should have gotten his head out of his ass ages ago, but I suppose that I’ll judge him by better late than never standards, and give him the smallest crumb of credit.”

Murphy smiled at her, though he wasn’t much in the mood to smile, and it certainly wasn’t a real one. He figured for those that could see them, smiles were reassuring, a show of fondness that made someone feel appreciated, and that was what he wanted to give Raven. He wanted her to be certain that he liked her around so that she would keep coming back and putting forth the effort he knew it must take to be around him.

“I guess,” he told her, shrugging again. “Now, what’d you make?”

He felt her hands around his, tentative and ethereal as a spider web. She forced his fingers around something smooth and polished, something distinctly wooden and incredibly long. A cane.

“I’m certainly a much better mechanic than carpenter, but I tried my best…” she told him quietly, sounding uncharacteristically shy now.

He, on the other hand, was altogether speechless. God, he wasn’t equipped for the emotional rollercoaster this day had turned out to be. It was almost exhausting having everyone be so saccharine. Coming from endless days of being burnt for begging for food, he wasn’t even sure if he could trust this kindness, and he certainly knew he couldn’t afford to get used to it.

“Is it shit? I wasn’t sure about the measurements, I really should’ve asked you how tall you are first, I’m sorry, I can remake it.” He felt Raven’s hands back on his, trying to unfurl his fingers from around her gift, but he only tightened his grip in response.

“No, Raven, it’s fine how it is. As far as I can tell, it’s perfect, it’s just…I’m surprised, is all.”

“Why are you surprised? Murphy, it’s my way of showing you that I’ve considered your friendship application and think you’re the right person for the job.”

He felt his lips curl back up into a smile and he knew that it was genuine this time. She seemed to have a strange way of bringing him to the closest approximation of happiness he could currently come to. In many respects, he was simply awed by her.

“Well, thanks…thank you.” He tapped the cane against the ground, listening to the heavy thud of the wood and the ping of the metal beneath it reverberating.

“I’m glad you like it. Now, come on, Murphy. Let’s get something to eat, ok? We’ve got venison on the menu today and everything.”

She didn’t offer him her arm, and he knew that this was a test. He managed to stand up without toppling over, which was always a good sign. It'd been nice of her to make it for him and everything, and of course he needed one, he knew that, but it still felt weird to have it. To wave it about in front of him and try to remember how the hell the few blind people he’d seen in his life had used these things to get around. Something about having it in his hands and stepping out into the airy world past the drop ship into the dizzying world of trees and teenagers made him feel altogether humiliated. He didn’t like being different, didn’t like being set apart from them and knowing that everything he did brought unwanted attention to himself.

But Raven was next to him, he could hear her footsteps and her soft breaths, and he wanted to eat with her under the sun like a normal person would.

“This way,” she said eventually, having to guide him with her voice once their surroundings grew too loud for him to hear her footfalls.

He kept worrying that this outdoor adventure would turn out as poorly as his last one. Having Raven helping him was comforting, but she also added to his nerves in a complex way he wasn’t sure he yet quite understood, so he was ill-at-ease.

He felt her small, calloused but gentle hand around his wrist again and she kicked something loudly with her foot. “It’s a tree trunk, sit on it and I’ll be right back,” she told him quietly.

He clumsily obliged, having an embarrassing amount of difficulty actually getting onto the damn thing, since it was so low down and his equilibrium still hadn’t recovered from the loss of his sight. Eventually, though he did sit down and Raven left him. He found that he didn’t much like being alone out here, not knowing how far away Raven was. Anything could happen out here, he’d learned that the hard way.

“Here. It’s on a stick, because, as I’m sure you know, we’re extremely fancy here.”

He resisted the urge to release a sigh of relief when he heard Raven's voice again. She took his hand and wrapped it around the skinny branch that smelled of charred flesh and blood. For a moment he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to eat it. He’d have to become a vegetarian or something, because God that odor...

No. No. This was a deer. A stupid deer that'd been shot and went down quick. He was hungry, he should eat it. If he wanted to be a normal person and he didn’t want to make even more of a fool out of himself in front of Raven, he needed to eat it.

He tried not to think of the smell of his own flesh on fire. He tried not to think of the way it’d felt, the strangeness of the pain and the certainty that the grounders weren’t going to stop it and it was going to spread up past his legs and he was going to die.

He brought the stick up to his mouth, the scent amplified now and pungent enough to make him want to puke. He tried to hold his breath as he forced his mouth open and ripped off some of the meat with his teeth. It tasted good. Didn’t it? He couldn’t really tell, he was too busy trying not to think.

“Murphy? You alright? You look sick. You think it tastes that bad? I think it’s alright…”

“No, it’s not that, it tastes fine…”

“What is it th-…Shit, you aren’t supposed to be eating rich food right now are you? Your stomach isn’t used to them, I forgot.”

“Yeah, I forgot, too.” Well, it was a true statement. He had forgotten that Clarke had told him to go easy on his stomach. And it just so happened to also be a rather convenient excuse that made it so he didn’t have to tell Raven what was really bothering him. 

“I’m sorry, do you want me to get you something else?” She offered, sounding somewhat anxious, like this was all her fault, which made him feel terrible, because really she hadn’t done anything wrong and this was all him and his obnoxious trauma's fault.

“No. Thanks, but I’m just really not that hungry.”

“You sure? I think you should eat _something_ , Murphy, I can see your ribs…”

“I’m fine,” he insisted stubbornly, not entirely pleased about being reminded that he looked like a skeletal freak show.

He felt her take his venison away, but he wasn’t sure what she intended to do with it, and didn’t much care.

“Do you feel alright, though?” she sounded so genuinely concerned that it made his stomach twist in a much different way than the meat had.

“Raven…” He thought about telling her that that was a stupid question. That of course he didn't feel alright, that he never did. Every inch of his skin stung, his feet were sore, and his hands still pulsated with the terrible sensation of having the flesh where his fingernails should have been, exposed. But he didn’t want to mock Raven or make her more worried than she already seemed to be. “I’m fine,” he repeated hollowly, not knowing what else to say.

“Murphy, please, you can tell me what’s wrong. I know it sounds like stupid, bogus shit, but talking really can help, and I’m more than willing to listen.”

He sighed and shook his head before whispering, “I don’t think I can eat meat anymore, is all. Or at least, not for awhile. And not because of my stomach…because I…um…the smell, ya know? It’s um…I don’t like it.” He was almost proud of himself for his honesty. Almost.

“Oh…God. I didn’t think about that.”

“It’s not your responsibility to try to figure out what’s going to trigger me or whatever. You don’t need to worry about that shit, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. It’s really not. Murphy…do you have any idea how fucking much I admire you? Most people would lose their minds if they went through what you did. Hell, I know I’d lose mine, but you…You’re so fucking strong.”

He was honestly tired of people telling him he was good and strong because he’d been tortured. He knew they didn’t understand, that no one ever would, and that that was a good thing, because he certainly didn’t want any of them going through anything similar and gaining understanding, but it still kind of ticked him off.

“God, don’t say stuff like that,” he muttered, his tone irritated despite himself. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Can’t take a compliment, huh?” She asked in such a cheeky, sweet way that he wound up forgetting he’d been irritated with her mere seconds ago.

“No, I guess not.”

“Well, I think you might just have to get used to them,” she told him stubbornly, chewing as she spoke. He almost laughed, thinking about all the ways she took advantage of his blindness, talking with her mouth full and peeing in front of him. She was something else.

He wanted to change the topic of their conversation, sick of taking about himself, as he didn't even much like himself. “Can I ask you something random?”

“Shoot.”

“What do you look like, Raven? I’ve been wondering…”

“Drop dead gorgeous, obviously.”

“Of course, I assumed that much. But what color is your hair and stuff?”

“Dark brown. Like pretty much the same color as yours. My skin is darker than yours, though, ‘cause I’m Latino, and I’m much taller than you.”

“Shut up, I can tell that you aren’t taller,” he mumbled petulantly, before giving in and laughing softly.

He listened to her eat for a bit longer and then heard clothing rustling and felt the log they’d been sitting on stir. “Come on, let’s go back inside, I can tell you like it better there,” she said, giving him her hand and helping him to his feet.

He used a combination of his cane and Raven to make it back to the dropship with relatively little difficulty. He wasn’t exactly getting the hang of it, but he was improving. “Not that I’m trying to enable you,” Raven hurriedly told him once they were back in the dropship. “You’ll have to get used to being outside eventually.”

“I'm well aware,” he mumbled, a bit of fluster coming through in his voice. It wasn't as though he wanted to become agoraphobic or anything, it just felt safer in the dropship, and he couldn’t help that.

“Alright, well, I have work to do, Murphy, so I will see you tomorrow.” She sounded different, a bit distant, and he wondered if he’d upset her. Worried that he had, though he couldn’t think of what he’d done wrong.

“Alright…see you,” he said, immediately feeling stupid again for having used another one of those damn phrases he’d been meaning to purge from his vocabulary. She didn’t notice, though, and he heard her walk away with quick, certain steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about this update being a week late! My life has been insane. Mostly in a good way, but also in an extremely confusing way, so I haven't gotten much writing done. Hopefully the next chapter will come on time, though. Thank you all so much for reading, and a huge thank you for all the kudos and comments.


	4. Combustibles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this update took so long!!! Apparently I'm just terrible at sticking to a schedule. This chapter is extra long, though as an apology...  
> Also TRIGGER WARNING, because this chapter touches on the non-con most directly and has some fairly non-explicit sexual content. I don't think any of it is graphic, but just take care. Thanks!

It'd been a noisy morning. Raven and Monty were currently in the dropship with him, trying to fix a busted radio or something. He didn’t think Monty liked him much after he’d tried to kill his best friend and all, so things were a tad awkward.

Eventually, though, Monty left and it was just him and Raven again. 

“Clarke’s out hunting with Finn,” she whispered, something odd in her voice again. She didn’t seem like herself, but he figured he didn’t really know her well enough to know. “But I guess I haven’t even explained about Finn and me, so…”

“Clarke told me,” he interjected, wanting to spare her the trouble of telling him everything.

“Of course she did,” Raven mumbled gloomily. “I’ve lost him for good, I think.”

“Bastard didn’t deserve you,” Murphy whispered in return, certain that he was right, but afraid that his words would offend Raven and get her to turn her anger onto him.

“He was prepared to sacrifice his life for me once, though. I want to blame Clarke, but I think maybe I’m the problem.”

“He’s the problem. Clarke didn’t know he was taken, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“I just need to move on. Murphy…Would you…could we…”

Oh. God no, she had to be fucking with him. There was no way she actually wanted to fuck him. He knew well enough how he looked, and he wouldn’t even fuck himself at this point. Hell, the only good thing about not having eyes was not having to look at his disgusting reflection! And yet here was Raven, who he fully believed to be drop dead gorgeous creeping closer to him and speaking in an low, lilted voice.

“W-what?” he finally managed to stutter out, feeling like he had whiplash and could hardly keep his head on straight.

“I’d be careful with your injuries, obviously. And I can talk you through it.”

Shit, she was serious. She was serious and he was…what was he? Turned on? Check. Dubious? Check. Terrified? Triple check.

“That’s not really the…Why don’t you just…do it alone? It'd be a lot easier.”

Why was he trying to talk her out of this? What was wrong with him?

“I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with someone besides Finn. He’s been with Clarke, and now it’s my turn. Come on, Murphy, we’ll still be friends afterwards, I promise.” Her hand was on his knee now, sending shockwaves through his body and bringing him to the cusp of hyperventilation.

“Stop! Raven!” Her hand hurriedly slid off his knee and he immediately missed it. “You don’t really want this, and you’d regret it if you did it.”

“I know what I want. I want sex. Nothing complicated. Just sex. And I can tell from your pants you want it, too, so stop trying to change my mind and let’s just have a good time.”

She was right. He was hard, and when she put her hands on his stomach and then slid them down to his pant line, it didn’t help matters any. He craved the pleasure and release of it so badly that he couldn’t hold out anymore. He let her unbutton his pants and pull him down onto the ground with her.

She tugged his pants and boxers down in one fell swoop and then he could hear her unzipping her own jeans, and soon she was on top of him. Her weight pressing down against his naked body and her hands wandering across his skin were only sexy for a few brief, glorious moments before his mind broke and suddenly he wasn’t quite certain anymore who it was that was touching and straddling him.

Her hands moved south and he squirmed beneath her, frantic and desperate to get away. “Please get off,” he squeaked in a small uncertain voice, half-aware of where he was and what an ass he was making of himself, and half-lost in his memories and certain that nothing he did could put a stop to this. The more he screamed and thrashed, the rougher and harder they’d ride him. That was always how it was.

“Oh my God, Murphy. Oh my God. I’m a fucking monster, what have I done? I didn’t know you’d been…I never would have touched you if I’d known.”

They were both panting and on the verge of tears by this point, he could hear it in her shaking voice.

“Murphy, Murphy, it’s Raven. Just Raven. I’m not going to hurt you, I’ve stopped, I’m sorry.”

She was off of him, and he was acutely aware of his naked body splayed against the floor of the dropship. He shrunk into himself, sitting up and hugging his knees to his chest. He kept repeating Raven’s words in his head to calm himself down. _Just Raven. Not going to hurt you. Sorry._ Right. She wouldn’t hurt him or force him or anything, he knew that, didn’t he? She was his friend. And yet…she’d tried to take advantage of him even though everyone in the entire universe knew how fucking fragile he was. She’d tried to use him for something casual even though she meant so much more to him than that. He felt as though she _had_ hurt him after all, and he was reeling.

“I’m so, so sorry, Murphy. Please say something…”

“I…um…” He still didn’t entirely blame her for this, though. After all, it was his fault that he couldn’t relax enough to do this with a person he was wildly attracted to. It was him who couldn’t get out of his head and differentiate between her and those who had forced him. “It’s okay,” he whispered finally, not wanting to make her upset.

She was still gasping for breath next to him, like they’d finished the act and it’d left her physically exhausted. He assumed that the exhaustion was more emotional in reality, though. “Here,” she whispered, and he felt his pants and boxers around his ankles again, felt her tugging them up to cover his scars and shame. She was quiet, subdued, and he wondered if it’d ever be the same between them again, or if this was it. If she’d finally looked at him and realized how tarnished and cracked he was; how unworthy he was of the trouble it’d take to piece him back together. He wouldn’t blame her. He couldn’t, because he didn’t know how to fix himself, either, and if he could have gotten away from himself, he would have.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands shaking as he buttoned his pants back up. He knew she’d be gone soon, that he’d disappointed her and himself. Yes, she’d been the one to start this mess, but he’d been the one who couldn’t finish it.

“What are you apologizing for?” she muttered, her voice terse and withdrawn, like it was slipping out between gritted teeth. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m entirely to blame here. I’m a selfish fucking bastard.”

“No, Raven, like you said, you didn’t know…’

“No, I didn’t. But I knew that I was using you to make myself feel better. God, I’m sick.” Her voice was coming from above him now, she was on her feet, and he was still on the floor.

He could hear silent words in-between those she spoke, words that told him that he wasn’t human anymore, not even to her, not really. She’d just wanted a body to fuck, and was willing to settle for one as jacked-up as his as long as she could still get off with it. And here he’d thought he’d loved her. What a fool. He shouldn’t love people. Who would want to be loved by him? No one in their right mind, that was obvious.

He didn’t know what to say to her now. He was afraid he’d start crying if he moved or spoke. He was so bitterly disappointed and so alone with her next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she told him again, voice shaking. “I care about you, Murphy, I do. A lot. And I fucked up.”

Did she actually care about him? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t trust her like he’d used to. He thought maybe he’d always been a charity case for her. That she only cared about him so long as she got brownie points and fucks out of it.

He still couldn’t speak, and he didn’t feel like he owed her a response, anyway.

He heard footsteps and knew she’d given up on him for good. He was alone now. There was no point in holding back his tears anymore.

***

* * *

He heard a gun shot in the distance the next morning, but he didn’t fear it. He didn’t care what caused it. If someone was shot, if someone was hunting, it would all the same to him.

“I assume you don’t want Myles as a roommate?” Bellamy’s voice broke through his thoughts and shattered the silence that’d been cradling him for hours now.

“Why would…”

“Grounders. He got an arrow in the chest and leg.”

“If you bring him in here, take me somewhere else,” he muttered, unable to bear the thought of having to be around someone all the time, especially the asshole that had tied the noose.

“Thought you’d say that,” Bellamy said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’ll just have them put him in a tent or something, then.”

Murphy nodded, relieved, until Bellamy’s words began to reverberate through his head. “Wait, grounders? Bellamy, what’s going on out there?”

He heard a huff of air and the sound of Bellamy readjusting his stance, and he knew the most he’d get from him was a hesitant half-truth. “We think they might attack, but we have a plan and they won’t get this far into the camp, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

Oh please. As if they could stop the grounders. They were a force as strong and irresistible as gravity. They were as quick and brutal as lightning, and he knew that the 100 didn't know what it was they were up against. They were going to die. And then that would be that and none of this would matter and all they’d be was a failed experiment.

It sounded nice in theory, but the reality would be terror and screaming and more of all that which he couldn’t possibly allow himself to go through again. God, what a nightmare.

“Oh…”

He heard something clink against the ground softly then he heard Bellamy’s footsteps loud as he rushed back outside and yelled, “Not in here! Take him to a tent! He’ll be alright in a tent!”

Murphy got to his feet quick, not caring to grab the cane which now had spoiled memories permanently chiseled into its smooth wooden exterior. He got down on his hands and knees and groped about aimlessly until his hand touched plastic. He felt a smile come to his lips, feeling lucky for the first time in an age. Bellamy had left it behind in his hurry, and he didn’t have to see it to know that it was beautiful. 

He took it in his hands, caressing the barrel with the palm of his hand as he tried to figure out the best way to go about doing this. The chamber was full, he could tell from the heft. All the potential for success was here, and he felt a buzz of excitement traipse down his spine. There would be no reliving his past traumas, the future was in his hands. The grounders wouldn’t touch him ever again, his impairments would cease to matter, and loneliness would lose its weight. Sure, it felt like giving up, but wasn’t he a failure either way?

He slid one of his hands down to the stock, the other staying wrapped firmly around the barrel as he rested his chin atop it. It pressed against his skin like a reassuring friend, like the person Raven couldn’t be for him. Bellamy had always been his idol, but now his real hero was in his hands. It would heal him in a way that Clarke never could.

He felt around until his hand found the trigger and he let one of his fingers rest on top of it. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the pain that he knew wouldn’t even come close to what he’d already endured.

“Sorry, I forgot my gu-…” Bellamy’s voice died away, and he was unexpectedly quiet for a infinitesimal moment. “Murphy, please put that down,” He begged in a small, soft voice as he took small, soft steps.

“Bellamy, I want this so bad. My feelings matter to you now, don’t they?”

“I told you I could never want you to die. I can’t fucking stand the thought of it, please just give me the rifle.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want! This is my fucking decision to make, not yours! You have no say in this, so step back if you don’t want to see it.” Murphy could feel his jaw jostle against the hollowness of the gun as he spoke. He liked the feeling. It reminded him what was at stake here, and why he couldn’t let Bellamy take this away from him. “Besides, you have more important matters right now, anyway, don’t you? The grounders are coming.”

“More important? Fuck that, Murphy. Nothing could possibly be more important than stopping you from doing this. God…please, Murphy. I’m begging you, please, just stop.” Bellamy sounded so sincere, it was almost heartwarming, almost made him feel like maybe someone would miss him, if only a bit.

He shook his head against the barrel and tightened his grip on the gun. “I’m sorry, Bell, but nothing could be more important to _me_ than going through with this.”

It was all something of a blur after that, after words were abandoned and actions were taken.

There were fingers around the wrist of the hand that was teasing the trigger, the grip was tight and desperate on his papery bones and raw skin, and it made quick work of yanking his unsuspecting hand away from the gun. Then, Bellamy snagged the barrel and jerked it away, leaving Murphy kneeling on the floor, empty-handed and on the verge of tears again. He felt like he’d just had his last hope wrestled away from him and stepped on.

“No!” he screamed, flinging away the last crumbs of his pride and jumping to his feet, reaching his hands out in avid desperation. “Bellamy! Please, give it back!”

“Fuck no. I’m never letting you touch one of these again.”

Murphy’s shoulders drooped and he heard the sound of Bellamy’s feet taking him away. He was alone again and there’d been nothing left behind to save him this time.

He stumbled back to the hammock like a sleepwalker, hardly caring whether he found it or not, though he did with only minimal difficulty. He plopped down it and rested his head in his hands, feeling one of his wrist pulse and ache and wondering how red it was.

“I’m sorry, I just had to take the gun outside, I didn’t want it in here a second longer,” Bellamy whispered, making a quick return and hurriedly coming far too close to him. “Murphy…will you talk to me now? Tell me what that was about.”

“What do you think it was about, Bellamy? I mean, I know you’re not very smart, but I still think you should be able to figure this one out,” Murphy spat out, trying to make his voice like venom, wanting Bellamy to get stung so bad he’d leave him be.

“I don’t know, Murphy. Is it because you’re worried about the grounders? Is it because you’re sick of not being able to see? Or is there something more to it?”

“D. All of the above,” Murphy mumbled quietly, feeling the fight rapidly drain away from his body.

“Ah, Bellamy, finally.” Clarke sounded breathless as she stomped into the dropship. She seemed to be in no mood to read the room and to not have the time to do so either.

“Clarke, you’re back? And Finn?”

“He’s fine, too. But we need to leave.”

“But you just got back…”

“No, we all need to leave. Like relocate. Permanently. It’s the only hope we have of surviving.”

“What!? No, are you crazy? This camp is the only thing keeping us safe!”

“It can’t do that for much longer. So help pack up. And I expect you to protect Murphy while we’re moving, got it?” She was so assertive. A fireball tearing through that didn’t leave any room for questions.

“No! I mean not about Murphy, of course I’ll look after him, but we shouldn’t be moving period!”

“I don’t have time to argue with you, Bellamy, I need to see to Myles and help everyone get ready.”

“Fuck, fine,” Bellamy relented, something tired and indifferent in his tone. “But I can’t leave Murphy right now.”

“He is capable of being alone for five seconds, Bellamy. He doesn’t need you to babysit him.”

“I think he does,” Bellamy said pointedly. Murphy could practically feel Bellamy’s gaze on him, and it was difficult to keep from crumbling under its pressure.

“God, I don’t have time for this. Stay with him, then. That’s fine.” And then the fireball was gone and the two boys were alone again.

“I really don’t need you to watch me,” Murphy protested weakly.

“No, as long as there’s nothing sharp nearby, I don’t think you do. But I’m not done talking to you, so I’m not leaving.”

“We’re all going to be dead soon enough anyway, and this won’t matter, so you don’t need to bother.”

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Bellamy told him, sounding almost convincing and in the neighborhood of confident. “And even if some poor chumps do, you won’t be one of them. I’m going to make sure of that.”

“That’s idiotic, Bellamy. You should save those who want to live.”

“No, because you see, I’m selfish, Murphy, and the ones I’m going to protect the most are you and Octavia. You’re the ones I can’t lose.”

“You could lose me and be just fine. You didn’t seem to be hurting too bad all that time I was gone, so don’t lie.”

“I’m not! I was telling the truth when I said that I missed you! And besides that, Murphy, I care about you now more than ever, and no, not just because I think you need me more now, but because…I’ve realized that I like my life better with you in it. So I’m not letting you die. No way.”

“That's sweet and all, but be realistic, even if I somehow survive this attack, how much longer do I have? This world is a nightmare and it’s one you have to be able to see in order to wake up from!” He knew it was pointless to try to make Bellamy see the facts for what they were, but he couldn’t help but try. He didn’t want him wasting his time on a lost cause when he could be doing something worthwhile. 

“Ssh, no, I’ll keep the world at bay for you.” He felt arms slip around him, and was so shocked he could hardly dare to breathe. He’d never imagined being in Bellamy’s arms like this, feeling them so gentle around him, feeling warm within their hold. “I’ve made mistakes, Murphy, so many, and I’ve hurt you, so you may not believe me, but I will. I’ve gotten a second chance with you, and I’m not going to let it slip away.”

Murphy let his own arms come up to enfold around Bellamy’s waist. The last time he’d hugged someone, it had been Raven, and it’d wound up being an empty gesture. He sincerely hoped that this time was different. If he was being forced to live, if he had no choice but to find a reason to breathe, he had to trust that this meant something, that Bellamy was embracing him for a reason.

“Looks like it’s time to move,” Bellamy said suddenly, releasing him hurriedly, only to clumsily take his hand and pull him to his feet.

Bellamy’s hand was sweaty and large around his own, but he took great comfort from it as they walked outside. He held his cane in his other hand, despite hating the thing for a multitude of reasons, because he knew it would come in handy for the times he doesn’t have anyone to cling to.

“Bell! Good, I was just coming to get you.” Murphy didn’t recognize the voice at first and shuffled through possibilities in his head until it dawned on him that of course it was Octavia. He was surprised this was the first time he was hearing from her, honestly. “Murphy…” she whispered quietly, cordially, and he wondered if she’d seen him like this before without him being aware of her gaze, or if she’d only heard a description of the damage from her brother.

“Octavia,” he said, just as politely, wanting to get along with her for Bellamy’s sake.

“Well, come on, boys,” she said, sounding on edge, but confident. Even more confident than Bellamy had been. Murphy could tell she’d changed, though he wasn’t sure how.

The thud of scared footsteps stampeding out of the camp together was deafening and made Murphy’s heart beat insanely fast until Bellamy gave his hand a squeeze and bumped their shoulders together encouragingly. He started to get into the rhythm of the walk and feel like maybe, just maybe he’d reach the unknown destination along with everyone else as long as he had Bellamy next to him, but then someone screamed out “Grounders!” and he very much wanted to die again. 

And then they were heading back to camp, and everything was for naught. Murphy became more certain with every retreating step that they really were doomed and definitely going to die. He couldn’t say he was too broken up about it, but he did wish Bellamy and Clarke, and maybe even Raven and Octavia could be spared. He didn’t much like the thought of them dying along with him.

“Murphy, stay here, I need to help get the gunners ready and set up some traps,” Bellamy told him then, depositing him back in the dropship to sit and do nothing while everyone else prepared for a fight. Nothing was all that he could do, though. It was the only thing he was good at now.

It wasn't long before Bellamy came back, and with him was a whole mess of footsteps and voices, some of which Murphy recognized, and some he didn't. Raven and Clarke and a boy who he couldn’t pinpoint.

Notably, Raven didn’t acknowledge his existence and instead got right to the shoptalk about filleting grounders.

Their plan sounded good, as far as he could tell. It was risky, and there was every chance in the world it would fail, but there was also a slim chance it would succeed, and he found himself hoping that it did.

Raven set to work and Bellamy ducked back out to check on his gunners again. He wasn’t sure where Clarke or the mystery boy, who he’d eventually realized was Finn, making him not so mysterious, had gone off to.

That made it so that he was effectively alone, and while it was somewhat unnerving, it could have been worse. Raven could’ve been in the dropship with him rather than under it.

“Get in! Hurry! Come on!”

He snapped to awareness as the 100 stumbled into the dropship and filled it to bursting. They’d all come down in it together what felt like a lifetime ago, and now here they were, together again and waiting to kill.

Or those of them that were still alive were all together, anyway. Or maybe even that wasn't true. Where the hell was Bellamy? He couldn't hear his voice amongst the din and he couldn't help but feel nervous. He needed to be next to him for this. He was…well fuck it, he was scared, and he wanted most of all to know that Bellamy was and would always be safe. At least he could hear Clarke's voice, though, that was somewhat comforting.

And Raven was definitely in there. Not that that mattered much.

He heard the door close and his heart leaped to his throat and did somersaults. There was some sort of conflict then, that he couldn’t quite decipher without being able to see it, though he thought they wound up with a grounder prisoner somehow. And then there was the sound of the blast and the suffering it awoke. 

He knew that feeling, and his legs ached as a reminder. But he was glad to hear the grounders burn, he couldn’t deny that. He only wished he could’ve toasted them himself. 

It all happened quick and breathlessly. He was shaking by the end with an odd mix of terror and exhilaration. They’d won, he could feel it. The grounders had tasted their own medicine and everything would be just peachy if only he knew where the hell Bellamy was.

He heard the 100 screaming like triumphant children as the door to the dropship fell open. They sounded like idiots, but they’d just miraculously beat very experienced, very brutal warriors, so he figured they had the right to sound as stupid as they pleased. 

“Murphy.” There was something sad in Clarke's voice, the relief was there, yes, but the joy was strangely absent. He felt a slight hand cup around his own and prompt him to his feet.

As he took her hand and stood up to meet her, he asked around the whoops and tears of delinquents, “Where’s Bellamy?”

Her brief silence told him enough, silence had begun to mean a lot to him. Her confession told him even more, “I’m not sure…”

And the way she said it made him wonder. He’d always wondered about those two, always known there would or could be something there.

They walked outside together, something between them too now. Something that he couldn’t name. He thought maybe they were friends, but he wasn’t sure that she’d agree.

There was a sick crunch beneath his feet as he left the drop ship, tripping and tumbling if not for Clarke. For once he was fine with not seeing. He wasn’t sure what the bodies littering the ground looked like, but he knew they couldn’t be pretty. No prettier than he was, at least.

“Finn!” Clarke's hand disappeared from his with jarring abruptness, and he found himself lost and alone amongst the wreckage. It was disorienting and he was briefly peeved about her leaving him behind until he felt arms fling themselves around him.

He yelped from surprise, scared half to death until it occurred to him that he knew this scent that now encircled him. He was familiar with the way this body felt, too. “God, you asshole, Bellamy, don’t fucking randomly grab me! I almost had a heart attack.”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy. We’re alive! Just like I told you we’d be!”

“Yeah, it’s swell. Where have you been, though? I was…worried and shit.”

He heard Bellamy laugh and he clenched his fists together, annoyed and embarrassed. His cheeks were hot and he felt young and dumb.

“I didn’t make it into the dropship in time, sorry. But you were worried about me? How cute.”

“Fuck you.”

Bellamy grabbed his hand and led him…well, somewhere. He could still hear the other teenagers, but their voices were just the slightest bit more distant. They faded into the background behind them, and Bellamy didn’t let go of his hand even once they’d stopped walking. “Why do you always have to pretend to be so angry, Murphy? Can't you ever just admit you love me?” Bellamy’s voice was teasing, playful, but Murphy felt as though it was mocking him. He was certain that he knew the sort of expression that would be occupying the other man's face right about now, all freckly, cheeky, shiny, and infuriating. 

“Maybe because I don’t,” Murphy grumbled, jerking his hand away from Bellamy's and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Bellamy whispered, his voice somewhat softer and breathier.

Murphy was just sick of people trying to play games with him and the things he felt.

“So…We saw part of the Ark come down just before the grounders broke into the camp,” Bellamy told him then, serious now as he shifted the conversation to a topic he must know neither of them would be too pleased by. “Didn’t look like it’d have a good landing, so I’m not sure if anyone survived, but I’m sure Clarke won’t rest until we find it and search for survivors.”

“Of course,” Murphy agreed, shaking his head as he tried to think of what this meant for them, the undesirables by society’s standards. He’d been in the Sky Box for such a long time…Obviously, he was bitter against the institution that had put him there. On the other hand, though, he knew they’d got lucky this time, but that there were plenty more grounders out there and they'd be properly fucked the next time around. Unless reinforcements had fallen down from the heavens. Those who had imprisoned and rejected them may now be their only hope. 

Not to mention that Murphy thought he might feel better, personally, with more people and structure. He hated them, yes, but he hated most people, so what was the difference? At least they’d have plenty of weapons and technology and things that might make him feel just a little less vulnerable.

“Bellamy, God, I’m glad you’re okay,” Clarke said suddenly, emerging from rustling branches and crunching leaves.

“I’m glad you are, too,” Bellamy told her, clearly meaning what he was saying. They both fell quiet for a moment, and Murphy wondered what it was they were doing.

“I’m taking a group to try to find the Ark,” Clarke told them, her voice less emotive and more in control now. To some extent, Murphy was beginning to respect how she could shift so effortlessly from friend to leader.

“I figured.” Bellamy sounded amused, almost on the verge of laughter, probably pleased by how predictable Clarke had become to him.

“Do you want to come?”

Murphy knew that the question was directed solely at Bellamy, because of course, he couldn’t go with them. It'd be pointless and inconvenient, so he was certain he’d find himself stuck in the dropship again. The thought made his stomach churn. He didn’t want the two people he was beginning to trust the most to go off and have some big adventure together while he stayed behind and waited. What if they never came back? What if the grounders came again while they were gone? Or what if they formed an inconceivably close bond that had no room for a blind boy in the middle of it?

“You’re taking Finn, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good. Then I don’t need to go. I know he’ll watch out for you.”

“I don’t need anyone to watch out for me, anyway,” Clarke muttered beneath her breath. Murphy found that he fully believed her. There didn’t really seem to be anyone more capable in this camp than Clarke. She was a genuine Jack of all trades.

“I know, I know. But I still worry.”

“Well, I’ll be fine. You be careful, too, though, Bellamy, and look out for everyone who’s staying behind.” Her words sounded somewhat pointed, and Murphy wondered whether she was somehow gesturing towards him as she said it. There seemed to be an unspoken “take care of Murphy" in there that she wanted only Bellamy to hear. He was both flattered and annoyed by her concern. 

“Will do.”

Clarke clapped Murphy on the shoulder before she scurried off back to camp, leaving him alone with Bellamy again.

“You could’ve gone,” Murphy mumbled, trying not to so much as hint at the fact that he was grateful that Bellamy made the decision that he had. He knew Bellamy knew how needy he was right now, but it certainly wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge. 

“Why would I want to? I think I’d much rather just enjoy my last few moments without parental supervision.”

Murphy laughed, nodding as he knew exactly what he meant. Though collectively the two of them didn’t actually have any living parents, it would sure feel like they did once they were back under the Ark's thumb and the Chancellor’s rulings.

“I hope Clarke’s mom is alright, though,” Murphy found himself whispering, somewhat surprised by his own words.

“Yeah, I do, too.”

“Oh, and hey, Bellamy, where’s Octavia?” Murphy asked, curious, but not too worried, as he knew Bellamy wouldn’t be acting so relaxed if he didn’t think his sister was safe.

“Oh God, I let her grounder boyfriend whisk her away. I hope she’s alright…I’m kinda worried.”

“Excuse me, what? Grounder boyfriend? Are you fucking with me?” He'd never thought much of Octavia, really. Despite being basically his same age, she’d always seemed younger than him. Maybe it was the result of spending most of her life beneath the floor, but she seemed freer, like every aspect of life was rich and exciting to her rather than something to be wary of. It was clear that she hadn’t had many life experiences, good, bad, or otherwise, and he sometimes envied that. Really, the fact that she’d be foolhardy enough to fall for a grounder shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“Unfortunately, not. His name’s Lincoln. He seems…well, he did stab Finn, so he’s not great, but he’s also been useful to us. I don’t know…but if I thought he was the sort of person who’d ever do anything like what those grounders did to you, he would be dead and not off with my sister right now.”

“Shit, Bellamy, I don’t like that. I don’t like her being with one of them…”

“I know, Murph, but she’s strong and smart and if she trusts him, then…I trust her enough to listen to her judgment.”

Murphy didn’t want to argue with him, and he supposed that it was none of his business whether Bellamy’s sister wanted to risk her neck for infatuation or not, anyway. He did hope she’d come back in one piece for Bellamy’s sake, though.

“Ok. I guess I trust you enough to trust her judgment, too.”

“You trust me?” Bellamy asked, his voice high, happy, and obnoxiously hopeful.

“At the moment, but that could change.”

“Oh, I won’t let it. Now that I have your trust, Murphy, I fully intend to keep it.”

“Ok, you do that, then, Bell. Good luck.”

He heard Bellamy laugh, and it was, as always, a nice, reassuring sound. He liked the way Bellamy laughed.

“Thanks. And for the record, I trust you, too.”

Murphy felt ridiculous for being warmed by Bellamy’s words, but he was. He couldn’t say that anyone had ever really trusted him before, or that he’d ever even been deserving of such a thing, so it felt like something of an honor. “Good…you should. It’s not like I could do much to betray you even if I wanted to.”

“How very reassuring,” Bellamy teased, still heartily laughing. He sobered up quick, though, and soon whispered, “And yet you said you’d never forgive me.”

Murphy felt his lips droop at the corners; he wished the other man wouldn’t put him on the spot like this. “Well, luckily for you, I don’t much care about having been hung anymore. That’s the least of my hang-ups.”

He felt Bellamy’s arms around him again, a sensation that had become so familiar, he was no longer surprised by it, and now simply melted into the other's touch.

Bellamy’s head rested against his own, and his hands ran gently up and down his back, and Murphy felt safe. It was all the comfort he could possible ask for to have Bellamy with him like this. And much more than he would have ever expected.

“Thank you, then. For forgiving me for something I can’t even forgive myself for.”

Murphy was half-tempted to tell Bellamy that he’d forgive him for almost anything at this point. Bellamy could kill him, and he’d be certain he must’ve had a good reason for doing so.

He was more to him now than anyone had ever been.

He couldn’t say such things, though, because he couldn’t allow himself to be so vulnerable in front of another person, even Bellamy. He didn’t want to seem too attached and scare Bellamy away, either, despite that he _was_ too attached.

“Yeah, ok. You’re welcome.”

***

* * *

They were sitting outside when Clarke’s groupies returned. It was pleasant, for once, to feel the sun he could not see and listen to the songs of invisible birds.

Bellamy was still by his side, telling him a story about his childhood with Octavia. He was telling it poorly, and Murphy could hardly keep track of what he was talking about, but he liked the cadence of Bellamy’s voice even more than the birdsongs.

“Finn!” Bellamy said suddenly, giving his story an abrupt end and leaving Murphy wondering if Bellamy’s mother ever found out about the stolen sock. “Where’s Clarke?”

“She’s with her mom. We found them.” Finn sounded breathless and boyish and thrilled.

“That’s great,” Bellamy replied, not sounding nearly as excited as Finn, though he did sound sincere.

“I think you guys should all go back with us,” Finn told them, his voice becoming a bit more serious, and somewhat demanding. “It’s best if we all stay together.”

“I know. I was planning on going there once it got confirmed there was a reason to make the trip anyway,” Bellamy muttered, clearly miffed by Finn’s sad attempt at being assertive.

Murphy felt Bellamy gently grab his arm and tug him to his feet, and it was clear that it was time to go. Which was fine; he was ready to settle down in a larger camp with more people and greater security. He was. But the journey did sound hard, especially since his body had been aching more than it usually did for the past hour or so. He felt somewhat sick and dizzy, as well, though that could easily be attributed to the fact that he hadn't eaten in a century, due to the venison ordeal and the subsequent warfare.

But it seemed it was now or never, so he'd just deal and hope that Bellamy didn’t walk too fast. 

Luckily, they did start off slow. The kiss of the sun was fading and the joy of the birds waning, so Murphy figured it must be evening now. At least now when the darkness enshrouded them it felt like a friend. Something that made everyone a bit blind and leveled the playing grounds ever-so-slightly. Perhaps it was the reason that Bellamy was tiptoeing through the underbrush rather than bounding through it. Or perhaps he was just walking slowly for Murphy’s sake, so that he could hold to him and not rely so heavily upon his cane.

Murphy worried that he was being a bother, as he was beginning to feel so ill he could hardly manage to walk at any pace. Every step hurt, but he didn’t want Bellamy to know that. He didn’t want to give him cause for concern. 

Eventually though, and perhaps inevitably, he stopped being able to keep the way he felt under wraps.

“Fuck, Bell, please stop for a second.”

“You alright, Murphy? Do you need some water or something?”

“No, I…um…” And that was when he puked. It was weird, he wouldn’t have thought he had enough in him for even clumpy liquids to come up and water the forest floor, but apparently he did. He collapsed to the ground, wanting very badly to be somewhere with a bed. He was glad that as he fell onto his hand and knees, he didn’t feel anything wet, so he speculated that he had at least managed to not fall into his own vomit. 

“Shit! Murphy, what’s wrong?” He felt Bellamy’s hand come down onto his shoulder, firm and reassuring against his bare, bandaged skin. “God, you’re hot. You feel like an oven.”

“Do I?” Murphy asked absentmindedly, his head spinning so much that this ordeal was starting to seem somewhat humorous.

“You must have an infection. Clarke hasn’t looked at your wounds for a few days _has_ she?”

“She’s been busy.”

“Yes, I know that, that wasn’t my question.”

“Bellamy, I can’t walk anymore…”

“I can see that. Just…I’ll carry you.”

Murphy did laugh then, trying to form a mental image of what that would be like, but it was impossibly hard to do so, as his brain was having the upmost difficulty putting together images of any kind and the features of Bellamy’s stupid, pretty boy face were swiftly blurring together and disappearing into nothing. He was still laughing, but really he just wanted to cry.

“No, no. You don’t have to do that,” he finally decided, forcing himself back up to his feet using his cane. He wasn’t going to be _that_ much of a burden on Bellamy, no way.

“Murphy, I’m not letting you walk. You can hardly even stand. I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself worse. So, I’m going to pick you up now, don’t freak out.”

Murphy was certainly tempted to freak out as he felt one of Bellamy’s arms slip behind his kneecaps and his other arm rest against the small of his back. The ground slipped away and suddenly Bellamy was the only connection he had to the world. Bellamy was all that he could feel and all he was aware of.

“God, Murphy, you don’t weigh a thing anymore…You’re lighter than Octavia was as a preteen.”

“Yes, well, thanks for body-shaming me.”

“I’m being serious,” Bellamy’s voice was tight and tense, like a coiled string about to come unraveled. Murphy could feel him begin to take short, gentle steps that made him feel like he was a baby being bounced. “I guess I haven’t paid enough attention to the state your body is in, but it worries me…I’m glad Abby's down here now, though. I’m sure she can help.”

Murphy opened his mouth to tell Bellamy, well, something…He wasn’t quite sure what, but the world that was no longer beneath his feet and that he felt so disconnected from slipped further away and disappeared altogether. He lost even himself to the nothingness.

* * *

***

**Again, super sorry about how long this chapter took. I'm going to stop making promises about when I'll post things, because obviously I suck, so I'll just post the next chapter as soon as I can, sorry. Anywho, the reviews on the last chapter were so nice!!! Like shit, you guys made me so freaking happy! And, blueparacosm! Having someone I respect so much leave such a kind review meant the world. So a huge, huge thanks to all of you guys! And to everyone who left a kudo or bookmarked this, too. And thank you for reading! Ta-**


	5. Culpability

It was weird to wake up and not be able to rub the sleep from his eyes. Or glance about to see where he was. Or even be entirely sure that he was alive and awake.

He felt something soft beneath his body, though, and was aware of the sound of machinery beeping steady and sure.

He needed to know where he was, though. Desperately. Despite the mattress and technology that told him he wasn’t about to be stabbed by a grounder, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly anxious.

“Bellamy?” he said hopefully, his voice small and scratchy. He needed him. It was stupid, but Bellamy made him feel safe, and he needed that right now. 

“Oh, Murphy, you’re awake! Bellamy isn’t here at the moment, sorry. It’s just me. Me, Clarke, I mean!” She sounded so frazzled, Murphy would have laughed had he had the strength.

“I know your voice, Clarke,” he reassured her, his lips perking up at the corners.

“Right, ok…Well, how do you feel?”

“Not great, but better than I did before, I think…”

“Murphy…I’m really sorry.”

“What for?” He was genuinely confused, and a bit concerned. As far as he could recall, she hadn’t done a thing wrong by him, but maybe while he was unconscious she’d…what? What could she possibly have done? 

“I let your infection get worse. I should have taken better care of you.” Her voice was strained and downtrodden, and he found it altogether adorable. She could be annoying as hell, sure, but she was also perhaps the nicest person he’d ever met. She had a strong sense of morality, too, and while that was something he definitely didn’t possess, he respected her for it.

“Don’t be stupid. You did plenty, and ya know, given that you also had to keep the grounders from killing everyone, I think you did a pretty good job.”

“You almost died, and I promised you I wouldn’t let that happen…” He could hear her sigh, in the sound was her exhaustion and her refusal to forgive herself.

“Did I? Well, I didn’t, though, so no need to worry about it.”

“You only say that because you don’t care if you die. Bellamy told me what you did, or…what you tried to do.” Ah, there was that classic Griffin weirdly maternal “ _I know best"_ bullshit. Her tone was stubborn and stern and wildly disapproving.

“Right, ok. I did. But the real question is, can you blame me?”

She fell quiet, as he knew that she would. The question must have caught her off-guard, and she must now be thinking of the best lie to tell.

“No…” Well damn. Now he was the surprised one. She was going to roll with the truth? Very interesting. “After everything, how could I? I can’t begin to imagine the pain you must be in, both mentally and physically...So, no, I can’t blame you for it, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. I'm certainly going to do everything in my power to keep you from pulling anything like that again.”

There was something almost worse about having her be so understanding. It made the reality of how shit his life was come crashing back down on him. If even resilient, fiery Clarke understood why he’d tried to end it, then his reasons must’ve been quite valid.

“You and Bellamy both,” he scoffed, gripping the sheets beneath him in his hand. “When really it’s none of your business.” He knew that he was being snappy and unfair, but he’d never been much good at thinking before speaking, so here he was again letting his passing emotions borrow his voice.

“Not our business, hmm? And would you say that it was none of yours if Bellamy was to blow his brains out? Would you just give him the go-ahead?” There was limitless snark in her voice. She was heat and ice, and eloquently blunt as all hell.

“That’s hardly fair, Bellamy is…You and him, I mean, are…” He cut himself off, not wanting to allow his mouth to keep getting ahead of him.

“We’re what, Murphy?” She asked him, her voice softer now and gentle in its prodding.

“Just like…all I have right now. And I know that doesn’t go both ways. Bellamy dying would fuck me up worse than me dying would him. And that’s fine, but it means your question wasn’t fair.”

“Oh, we’re not popular, either. You might think we are, but what do I really have beyond my mother, Bellamy, and you?”

“Finn?”

“No, things with Finn are too complicated for me to even count him…But that’s not the point! The point is that you’re important to us, too. You and Octavia are what Bellamy cares about most in this world, he’s made that abundantly clear. God, you should have seen in him in here, Murphy. You’d never doubt how much your death would hurt him if you had.”

“Oh, please. That’s-"

“But maybe this is a conversation you should have with him. Maybe the conversation you and I should be having is that I care about you.” He felt a hand cover his, coaxing his fingers away from the sheet and bringing warmth to his skin. “You may think you don’t matter and that your death wouldn’t affect me, but I don’t want to lose you now that I’ve finally got to meet the real you rather than that arrogant prick of a boy who went around pissing on people.”

She laughed then, and he did, too. She was, in many ways right. He’d been through the wringer, and the wringer had dragged him away from his cocky, asshole defense-mechanisms. He had become rather defenseless, and while it was terrifying and not at all preferable, he knew that he was less closed-off and shitty as a result. Now he was just entirely _him_ , because he didn’t have the strength to be anyone else.

“I know you didn’t like me before you came back, either. In fact, I think you hated me, but now I don’t think you hate me anymore; do you, Murphy?”

“No, of course not, Clarke…”

“Good. So then you see how it can change. How I could care about you now and sincerely mean it when I tell you that I’d be fucking pissed if you died. Right?”

He knew he'd have to surrender now, that there was no way around it. “Ok, sure, Clarke,” he whispered, still amazed by her ability to take charge. “I get it.” Yet he still wasn’t completely convinced. Sure, he knew that Clarke and Bellamy cared about him, but he also still knew they couldn’t possible ever care as much about him as he did them. But he didn't have enough energy to argue his point, or even to stay awake, for that matter. He felt himself slip back into a slightly more tangible nothingness. 

***

* * *

“Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?” Bellamy. It was nice to wake up to the sound of Bellamy's rich, firm voice. It made him feel immediately safe and certain that he was out of the reach of heat and metal.

“I don’t see how that would be any of your business, Bellamy.” Raven. A voice just as firm, but far less comforting now. She was unpredictability and hard hands on split skin.

“Ha, Murphy said almost that exact same thing when he held my rifle up to his head.”

It was beyond difficult to keep his breaths even and his heartbeat steady. He knew that he had already had a lesson on the downsides of eavesdropping, but he was intrigued and couldn’t even imagine purposefully putting an end to this conversation. He really didn’t want an off-tempo heart or irregular breath to give his conscious state away and ruin this for him.

“What…He did that?” Raven’s voice was far weaker than it usually was now, it sounded as though it was on the verge of failing her. Murphy almost felt bad for putting such concern into her voice. Almost.

“Yeah, he did. If I’d come back to the dropship five seconds later who knows…who knows if he’d be in that bed right now.” Poor Bellamy. Bellamy he would freely admit he did feel bad for. Kind, caring Bellamy who really hasn't deserved to see his rifle against a boy’s jaw, threatening to hold him partially accountable for a suicide that didn't belong on his shoulders.

“Fuck. That’s…I’d never forgive myself if he had. I was such a bitch…”

“So, you did hurt him. I thought so.”

“Oh, Bellamy, get off your fucking high horse! All of this started because of you, didn’t it? Didn’t you try to kill him?” She sounded like an unstoppable cyclone of jagged fury. And he wondered if she looked half as threatening as she sounded.

“And I’ve apologized to him a thousand times! We’re on good terms now. He’s forgiven me, so _you_ have no right to hold it against me!”

It was getting harder by the second to stay statuesque. They’d be at each other’s throats any second now, and he didn’t want that. Their conversation was messy and loud, but he couldn’t stop listening. Though their words made him want to scream right along with them, he had to stay still and school his expression into one of blissful ignorance.

“Well…I’ll apologize to him, too. I never meant to hurt him, of course, I didn’t...” To his surprise, Raven’s voice was softer now, regretful and genuinely sorry. He wondered what that forthcoming apology was going to be like. 

“But what did you do, Raven? Maybe it isn’t any of my business, but if what you did to him was even a sliver of the reason he almost…killed himself, then I want to know.” Bellamy had that tone now, one that was rather familiar to Murphy. He usually only used it in reference to Octavia, when he was trying to protect his sister somehow, and it was odd to hear it being used for his sake. It was almost disheartening. He wasn’t a child and he wasn’t Bellamy’s brother. He didn’t need Bellamy to be saying these things in such a tone. Really, he didn’t. 

“You absolute asshole! You don’t think I’m already thinking about that? That maybe I’m part of the reason he wanted to die!? You don't think I already hate myself for it!?” Raven’s voice was so high and shaky now, cracking on the loaded words and stilted from deep breaths. Surely, she must be crying. It seemed a weird thing for a girl like her to be doing, but there was no other reasonable explanation for such a voice.

Someday he thought maybe he’d tell her it was okay. That she _had_ hurt him, and he _had_ thought of her with that gun in his hands, but it was okay anyway. Somehow. Because he found he didn’t even need to hear that apology in order to accept it. He just didn’t want to hurt her back.

“I think about that, too. A lot. About all the things I’ve done that contributed to Murphy wanting to pick up that gun. And I hate myself for it, too. So…I guess, I’ve just been looking for someone else who could take the blame, and it’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry.” Murphy wished he could sit up and stumble to wherever these two stupid souls were and pull them into his arms. He wished he could tell Bellamy he was the reason he’d put the gun down, not the reason he’d picked it up. But it’d all be far too awkward if he spoke now. If he let them know that all this time he'd been listening.

“Did you…did you know that he was raped?” Murphy could have puked. Just from the word. Just from the way she said it.

“Yes. Yes, I know.” And Bellamy’s voice, so small, on tiptoes around the most delicate of subjects, the strangest of the pain.

“I didn’t…Not at first. And Finn…I was so upset about Finn, which seems so arbitrary now, but…at the time it didn’t, and I wanted to be touched by hands that weren’t his. To have someone else inside me. So, I went to Murphy…”

“God…Raven, why…why would you ever think that was a good idea?”

“I wasn’t thinking! Clearly, I wasn’t! I was so damn selfish; I didn’t stop until he begged me to get off of him. So, go ahead, lay the blame on me. I’m sure I deserve it.”

It was hard to hear all of this. Hard to be reminded of what had transpired between them. He felt that uncanny sense of shame again. _Begged her to get off of him._ Ah, he really was such a mess.

“Do you…Do you like him like that or was he just convenient?”

Shit. He didn’t want to hear the answer to that question. He already knew the answer, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. 

“I…I like him, a lot. I do. Just…not like that. I wish I did, I wish it hadn’t just been…convenience, but it was.”

Not surprising. Not at all. Still, though, it hurt to hear. Hurt to be made aware of his own utter repulsiveness all over again. Raven was glorious, and confident, and undoubtedly beautiful in every way. How could it have possibly been anything but convenience? Why would Bellamy even bother to ask the question?

“Then you’re right, Raven. You do deserve the blame.”

Murphy wished Bellamy wouldn't say such things, wished he wouldn't guilt Raven over not feeling something that no one could possibly feel. Yes, Raven had fucked-up, everyone was aware of that, that wasn’t the question anymore. The question was why she had touched him, and the answer was obvious. He wished they’d just drop the subject, or even simply leave the room.

“Well, fuck you, Bellamy. This isn’t even about you! You’re not the one who can decide who gets the blame anyway! Only he can, so stop speaking for him!”

“You hurt him! He’s not going to admit it, that's not who he is, but we both know that you hurt him at a time where that was the last fucking thing he needed, so he put a gun to his head!”

“Stop!” Raven’s voice was almost animalistic, a desperate cry that reverberated off the walls of the room. She sounded wounded, like Bellamy’s words were daggers that had hit her fast and hard. “I can’t…I didn’t mean to! I was so stupid…I didn’t think…I’m so sorry! I hurt him, I know, and I’m so sorry. I’ve never felt sorrier for anything in my life.”

Shaking breaths filled the air. Gasping like a fish on land. Full-chested sobs. Sounds that seeped within Murphy’s blood and resonated within his soul. He didn’t like hearing Raven weeping like that. It reminded him too much of sounds that he’d made too many times to count. The sounds that had piled atop each other to wreck his throat. The sounds he’d made when first befriending pain.

“God, stop! I forgive you, Raven, stop crying!” So much for not letting them know he’d been listening. So much for not wanting to make things awkward. But he’d had to speak up. He couldn’t help it.

She immediately obliged, and all that was left was wheezing and tired attempts to catch her breath.

“Murphy? Uh…how long have you been awake, exactly?” Bellamy. He sounded so very calm in comparison to Raven. Hell, he sounded calm in comparison to Murphy himself. And surprisingly enough, he didn't even sound upset.

“Um…for awhile now. Sorry…”

“Great. You really need to stop eavesdropping, it’s rude.”

“I’m aware. But rude has always been my forte, hasn’t it?”

“Murphy,” Raven interjected hurriedly, her voice serious and firm even as it quivered, making it clear that she didn't want to waste any time. “You heard then, yeah? How…how sorry I am. How much I regret what I did.”

“Yeah, I already told you I forgive you, didn’t I?” It was somewhat odd having this conversation whilst lying down. Bellamy and Raven were clearly hovering over him now, based on the proximity of their voices, and here he was simply lying between them, wishing he were at the very least able to gaze up at the ceiling. 

“I wasn’t sure if you meant it, or if you just said it to get me to shut up.”

“Bit of both.”

“I’ll take what I can get, so thank you,” she whispered back, the relief that was tangible in her tone rolling over and warming Murphy’s heart.

“Sure…” His own voice was nearly inaudible, as he suddenly felt abnormally embarrassed. He wished Bellamy wasn’t in the room, his presence made it harder to have this conversation.

“Hey, um, by the way, how do you feel?” The words felt out of place, but Bellamy’s concern was clearly genuine.

“Fine. Better.”

“Good. You almost gave me a heart attack passing out like that.” So serious he sounded. Like there was no hyperbole in that statement at all. It was a wonder.

“Sorry. Promise it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Yeah, Clarke told me that it was her fault.”

“That’s definitely not true.”

“I didn’t think so either. She feels guilty, though.”

“All you people do. I think it’s contagious.”

He heard both Bellamy and Raven laugh nervously, both consciously guilty of feeling guilty.

“Maybe you’re just too forgiving,” Bellamy mumbled, sounding so serious that Murphy almost laughed.

“I’ve certainly never been accused of that before,” he replied, trying to stifle the grin that was overcoming his lips. “And besides that, you should know that I’m forgiving for selfish reasons. If I was holding grudges here, then I’d have no…friends?” He couldn’t have said the last word without a questioning inflection. In fact, he almost regretted having said the word at all.

Bellamy hurriedly said, “Yes, we’re friends, Murphy.”

At almost the same time Raven excitably exclaimed, “God, I’d love nothing more than to be friends again!”

He couldn’t help but smile now. “Ok, good,” he said simply, in reply to both of them. So, they were his friends. Good. Yeah, that was pretty good.

“Now, would you like something to eat?” Bellamy asked him, sounding so very kind and caring and _Bellamy._

He suddenly wanted to cry, but instead he just said, “Please,” and awkwardly forced himself up into a sitting position, listening to clumping footsteps pound away and feeling a small, gentle hand cup around his own.

This was good.

Yeah. It really was.

***

* * *

**Gasp, I'm posting on time? Shocker, I know. Anyway, I'm going to start doing shout-outs to everyone who leaves a comment because I appreciate them so damn much, so thank you a ton, blueparacosm, sapphictomaz, and Isthatawalrus. So, so glad people are enjoying this thing. And thank you to those who left kudos and bookmarks, too!**

**~Til next time**


	6. Deprivation

The Medbay was boring, and when he didn't have visitors, it was eerily quiet, and made him fear for his very sanity.

But Abby and Clarke were both good to him. So was that nurse whose name he could never quite remember.

They told him he was getting better, and he just took their word for it, figuring they knew best even if he couldn't actually feel much of that improvement they spoke of. Apparently, he was putting on a little weight. He could still feel his ribs prominently poking through when he touched his stomach, though. Oh well, at least he hadn't blacked out lately, that had to be good news. 

Abby in particular kept bringing up a subject he wasn't entirely comfortable with, though.

Prosthetic glass eyes.

God, when she’d first brought up the idea, he'd been sent reeling. He hadn't thought at all about them, because they hadn't even been an option before now. Now, though, there were professionals here on the ground that could make him some fairly convincing ones, or so Abby told him.

Perhaps he was overestimating them, but he felt that they had the potential to change everything. People wouldn't have to see…well shit, he didn’t even know what people saw when they looked at him. He'd never seen anyone without eyes before he'd lost his own. But he assumed that looking at someone’s face and seeing nothing there except drooping eyelids and empty space must be extremely unsettling. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be unsettling anymore. 

Hell, apparently, they could rig it so that the things would fucking move! Not like real eyes, not quite, but shit! That would be…

Still, though, some part of him was still revolted by the thought.

Abby said they'd have to give his sockets a bit more time before they could fit him for the prosthetics, though, so he had plenty of time to make up his mind about it.

No. There was no deliberation necessary. He’d get them. He had to. It’d be stupid not to…right?

They could be his ticket to feeling human again. He could taste it. Yes, he'd still be blind, obviously, but he wouldn't be quite as much of a freak anymore. He’d still have a shit ton of scars that would never heal, too, but not everyone would be able to tell from half a glance that he was eyeless. And that sounded really nice. He wanted any semblance of normalcy he could get. 

Even if it meant lifting his lids to force in painted acrylics. Even if this normalcy would come from something he wasn't sure he considered natural.

Even if he was worried that the prosthetics would be terribly uncomfortable and that the discomfort would continuously remind him of the fact that he could never be normal. Even if he was getting used to having vacant sockets and was scared of change. Even then.

He hadn’t talked to anyone about this yet, aside from Abby, and even then, it had only been clean, clinical discussions about adjustment periods and sanitizing processes. Really, though, he didn’t think he could bear to talk about this with anyone in any other capacity, anyway. He didn’t want to bring up such a personal topic that tied so directly into all that he was willfully trying to repress.

He heard footsteps swift on the tile beneath his cot, breaking him out of his thoughts and causing him to uselessly turn his head towards the source.

“Hey, Murphy, I had some free time, so I just thought I’d come check up on you…” Clarke. She seemed to be here a lot. Her presence its own unique kind of comforting; her voice reassuring in every way. He liked having her here. Maybe more than anyone else. She understood what he needed now. How worn out he felt and how badly he craved peace.

“Oh. Hi, Clarke.” He could feel his lips turn up at the corners despite himself.

“How are you feeling…?” she asked slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she should ask the question, wasn’t sure if it would always be a stupid one to ask a boy with as many cuts, burns, and traumas as him.

He shrugged against the thin, firm pillow behind him. “Not bad. And…I can get out of here soon, right?” He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared. His freedom was going to be extremely limited and nearly nonexistent no matter where he went, so it hardly mattered whether he was in medbay or not. Still, though, he missed the feeling of wind and sun on his skin. He missed having the strength and room to stumble about.

“Good. And yes, soon. Hopefully…Anyway, I brought you something to eat, too.” He heard the sound of a metal utensil clanking against porcelain and knew that he had no choice in the matter. Clarke couldn’t care less whether he was in the mood to eat, she knew that he needed to put on weight, and she was going to make damn sure that he did so.

He sighed, taking pleasure from acting put out by her kindness. He inexplicably and stubbornly wanted to make her feel like he’d be doing her a favor by eating her offering, rather than it being the other way around.

He held his hands out and briefly felt her skin as she passed the dish to him, making sure that he had a good grip on it and knew where the utensil was. He felt the smooth object in his left hand and the hot metal in his right. It wasn’t a plate as usual, no this was round. This was a bowl. Which made the utensil…

Fuck no. This was so stupid! His heart was not hammering in his chest over a fucking spoon! He absolutely forbade it from hammering!

“I…um…can’t eat this,” he heard the words leave his mouth before he’d even consciously shaped them.

“Come on, Murphy, you haven’t even tasted it. You don’t even know what it is. It’s good, I promise.” Clarke sounded somewhat annoyed. It must be frustrating for her to have her best efforts be taken for granted and come to naught. He’d feel bad if he was currently capable of thinking logically.

Instead of answering her, though, he simply threw the bowl across the room and listened to the unsatisfactory sound of it shattering.

The last remnants of images were spilling into his brain even as it was forgetting how to form them. He could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears. Echoing. Curved metal close, too close. Nearing his face and he didn’t quite know yet what it meant. Yet closer and closer, touching the top of his cheek, cool touch. Poking up against the bottom of the ball of his eye through the safety of the thin skin. Moving higher. Pressure. Unforgettable pressure. His hands coming up and frantically trying to push it all away, but no, now they knew to hold his hands back. The metal got closer. Cool touch and pressure. Scooting inch by inch, his heart pounding, tongue loose, screaming for mercy.

The spoon inside the socket. Slipping in and down, behind. Separating, severing. Dropping. Screaming himself hoarse, consciousness wavering. Wash, rinse, and repeat. One more eye to go.

God. Who he hadn’t spoken to since he was small. Had never believed in. A faithless prayer to reserve that half that he had left.

But no. No divine intervention. No providence. Not now. Just explosive pain and a bloody spoon touching the top of his cheek. The left one now. He couldn’t feel the cold or the pressure. The hurt was too loud. He could hardly scream above his own misery. But it was growing closer.

Slip and drop.

“Murphy!”

His knees were tucked up and his arms were around them. His throat ached, dry and rough as a desert in hell.

All this for a spoon.

Fucking spoons.

He tried to catch his breath, tried to stop shaking and come back down. Clarke's voice saying his name loud and then soft over and over, so scared and desperate. Now he did feel bad. Bad and so very stupid.

Just a spoon.

The same squishy sound of soup in a bowl and an eye in a socket.

God hadn’t saved him, but he had preserved spoons. 

“I’m so sorry,” he croaked, wanting to cry. Half-wanting to be held and half-afraid a touch would trigger him. The sound of his own voice noxious, the feeling of loss in the front of his skull devastating.

“Murphy…You don’t need to be sorry.” Voice so soft and smooth. Like a balm to his aching soul. If only he could wear her voice like a coat around him. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No, Clarke. You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who flipped out for…for no reason.”

“There was a reason. Murphy…you do know you have PTSD, right? You can’t help how you react to things.” Ah. Well his education had been sorely lacking, so he wasn’t sure why she’d assume that he knew about her medical shit. Hell, he’d always had a hard-enough time just trying to read and write what with the letters always seeming to dance and flicker. Or. Well, now he couldn’t read and write at all. Well. How about that, then.

“Um…no. Sounds fun, though.”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“Oh, right. Yes. I don’t really care, though.”

“I think you should care.”

“Mm. Well, I don’t want to talk about this. Can you just like…not tell anyone about what just happened, please?”

He heard her sigh again, and felt her hand come down to rest on his wrist. Her touch was light but reassuring. He wished he had more of it. “I won’t, I promise. But I think you should get a therapist. Though I'm not sure any made it to the ground…”

“I don’t want one, anyway.”

“You need to work through things, Murphy. Or your memories will keep haunting you.”

“Pretty sure they'd still do that even if I started lying on couches and talking about my feelings.”

“Therapy isn’t like that. It’s supposed to be quite helpful.” Even she sounded uncertain, to the point where he wasn't even sure if she knew what she was talking about. He didn't want to call bull, though, and make her feel bad for trying to help again.

“Ok, well, I guess I’ll think about it,” he flippantly lied. He had more pressing concerns. Like glass eyes and overcoming his newfound fear of spoons.

“Good,” she whispered, sounding like she knew full well that he was just telling her what she wanted to hear. “Are you…okay now, then?”

He nodded slowly, letting his feet slide down so that his knees were flat again and his hands were resting on his lap. “Just…I really don’t like spoons.”

“Ah. So that's what it was.” There was a hint of confusion in her voice that bothered him. She’d just have to stay confused, because he wasn't about to spell it out for her. “I thought it was the soup.”

“No, I'm sure the soup was fine. And sorry about the soup…”

“It's fine. It’s not even very good soup, honestly.”

There was a moment of weighty silence, the sort that made him fear that his existence was fleeting. Or that she'd finally had it with him and was going to leave. He'd understand if she did. After all, he'd thrown a bowl and there must be soup and sharp bits of porcelain everywhere, and maybe she thought he was violent now. Maybe he was. What if the bowl had hit her and the warm liquid had burnt her or the broken bits had gotten in her face, in her eyes…

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said hurriedly, hoarsely, desperately, just wanting to break the quiet and pull her back to him. Her hand was still on his wrist and he put his other hand on top of hers, feeling her warmth, her touch, the smallest shred of mercy and comfort she had offered him.

“Hm? I know you wouldn’t…” She sounded more nervous now, like his words had done the exact opposite of what he'd intended for them to do. 

“Sorry…I just…I thought maybe you'd think…since I threw the bowl that I was…but I’m not.” He sounded like an idiot and wanted to zip his mouth shut and slap himself upside the head before he wound up permanently skeeving Clarke out.

“No, I know. Like I said, that wasn't your fault, anyway. You’re a good person, Murphy. Whether you're willing to admit it or not.” And then there were arms around him, tucking between his body and the pillow to hold him close. The scent of mussy hair in his nose and the feeling of a soft chest against his head. He breathed her in and hugged her back, and it felt good. No cold, no pressure, just this undeniably beautiful, caring girl holding him in her arms. For the briefest moment he felt suspended from space and time.

“Thanks, Clarke,” he whispered, needing to say something to stop himself from saying the words he could not say. Needing to let her know she meant something. Meant a lot.

“Yeah, of course. Now, I should really go, but I’ll be back soon to clean that up and bring you something you can actually eat, ok?”

“Ok,” he mumbled as he felt her arms disappear, leaving him feeling empty.

Again, there were footsteps, and then he was alone.

***

* * *

He felt something drop quick and cold against the top of his head. Then another. Drip.

His lips curled into a smile as he put his hand out, palm up so he could feel the water hit his skin. Bellamy was being weirdly quiet, and the silence had been making him uneasy, but now at least he had the rain to keep him company. 

“We should go back inside,” Bellamy finally whispered, his first words in all but an eternity. 

“I like it out here,” Murphy petulantly mumbled, leaning back on the stump and feeling the chilly air whip around him and the sky’s sweet shower wet his hair and clothes.

“No, come on, you just got released from Medbay, I don't want you having to go back.”

Murphy shook his head, water dripping off long strands of hair as he moved his head back and forth. It felt like his hair was long and scraggly enough that it would get in the way of his vision now if he had any. He'd been debating asking for haircut, but he liked the thought of his hair hiding his face from the world. At least until he could get prosthetics. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, but Clarke would kill me if I let your bandages get soaked and slip off of you or something, so come on.”

He felt long fingers curl around his wrist and coax him up to his feet. He knew that Bellamy wasn't going to leave him be, so he stood up slowly and waited for the man to guide him back inside. Bellamy linked their arms together, and though Murphy knew it was just for the sake of convenience and functionality, it was still nice to be so close to him. Especially since he'd felt strangely distant the last couple of days.

Their feet were soon tapping against metal and the rain lost its hold on them. Murphy shivered despite himself, annoyed by Bellamy's gentle laughter. “I knew you were cold, you liar.”

“Maybe. But I still liked it.”

They kept walking until Murphy heard a door slide shut behind them and Bellamy tugged him down onto a soft surface again. They must be back in their room now. 

It felt natural that they were sharing a room. He couldn't imagine being roommates with anyone else. Well, Raven or Clarke would have been fine, but their differing genders may have raised eyebrows, so Bellamy was safer. And he liked having Bellamy around all the time, though he couldn't really tell if his roommate felt the same way. Sometimes he worried that Bellamy was still doing all of this for him out of a sense of obligation. He knew Bellamy had assured him that they were friends, but he figured he'd always have his doubts.

“So…you’ve probably noticed I've been a little off lately,” Bellamy suddenly whispered, voice tense. Murphy could feel him shifting about on the bed. It was a bunk. Obviously, this, the bottom one they were currently sitting on was his, and Bellamy's was the top. Practicality dictated that it be that way. 

“Yeah. I’ve definitely noticed,” he muttered in reply, tempted to crack some sort of joke, but too nervous with anticipation to do so. 

“Right, well…Clarke kissed me. And I’ve just been...a bit thrown.”

His heart fluttered up to his throat, and had he been alone he was certain he would have cried. Clarke and Bellamy. Together.

Where the hell would that leave him?

He should’ve seen this coming, but then again, he didn’t see much of anything nowadays.

His short-circuiting brain prompted him to say something, so he stupidly spat out, “Oh! Did she…? Nice. Good. About time.” Things had been going rather well for him lately, so really it was about time that some sort of shit hit the fan. His fan could never stay shit free for long.

“You think?” Bellamy asked, clearly not noticing how desperately Murphy wished they weren't having this conversation right now. Or ever.

“Yeah…don’t you?” His voice was quiet now, because he simply didn't want to speak at all anymore.

“Yeah…I was just surprised. I didn’t think she even liked me much. And I’m worried she's just rebounding from Finn.”

“Of course she likes you. Probably any girl would.” And at least a few boys, too, he figured. Bellamy was gorgeous, he remembered enough of how he looked to know that. He was warm and had an infectious laugh and a soothing voice. He stuck up for people and went to incredible lengths for those he cared for. It made perfect sense that Clarke would fall for him, who wouldn't? Who hadn’t?

Bellamy laughed softly next to him, that infectious laugh that felt just like a plague now. “I thought Clarke wasn’t falling for my incredible charms, though. But I guess she is, after all.”

“Do you like her?” Murphy whispered, feeling that he had to know just where they both stood. That he had to be certain.

“I think so, yeah. I mean, what’s not to like about Clarke once you get to know her, right?”

Right. Clarke was warm, too. And kind and brave and breathtakingly beautiful in her own right. They belonged together. A power couple that could uproot the Earth itself.

“Yeah, true…She’s a lot better than I gave her credit for.”

“I know what you mean. We were all kind of hard on her…but then again, I never gave you enough credit, either…” Bellamy’s words seemed to die away fast, leaving Murphy to wonder what sort of credit he had now been deemed deserving of.

“Well…I don’t get why you've been weird about this for almost three days, but hopefully I can have my regular shitty roommate back now.” He tried to smile, wanting to be teasing and lighthearted, though his heart felt too heavy to allow his lips to lift.

“Ok, fine. You’re right. I’ve been an idiot. There’s nothing to think about, I should’ve just kissed her back." He heard Bellamy’s shoes scuff the floor and felt the mattress grieve the loss of his weight. “Actually, I think I should go talk to her now. That alright?”

“Mm. Go for it.”

The door slid open and then shut again. Murphy flopped back on his bed, taking a deep breath. For the first time in over two weeks he wished he was dead.

***

* * *

**Plagues and earthquakes. Also broke up with my SO. It's been a lovely week. Honestly, though, hope you're all doing alright and staying positive during quarantine and such. Anyway, as always, thank you for reading. And thank you to:** **Writing_On_TheWall, Isthatawalrus, and noir for your kind comments. And thanks to all those who bookmarked or left a kudo. I really do appreciate any kind of feedback, so feel free to speak your mind.**

**-Til next time.**


	7. Fortune Favors

“So…my mom told me that you’re getting prosthetics tomorrow.” Clarke’s voice was gentle, like she knew she was treading on ground that neither of them was entirely sure would hold her weight.

He took a bite of the apple she had brought him (rich and juicy and clearly selected by eyes that could see and admire its plump redness) and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I think so,” He whispered, still slightly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. He really hasn't discussed it with anyone aside from Abby. He was almost certain he hadn’t even mentioned it to Bellamy, Raven, or Clarke. He wondered if Clarke had told the other two about this, or if they were still in the dark.

“I think it will be good,” Clarke told him, her voice overly cheerful, her pitch too high. “I’ve seen people with prosthetic eyes…They look good. Really.”

He lowered the apple away from his mouth, suddenly feeling too dizzy to eat, despite that he was sitting still on his bunk. “Clarke…You’re just making me more nervous,” he mumbled weakly, trying to not sound too terribly pitiful.

“Oh, am I? Sorry.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice. Like she took pleasure from his pain. Although, ok, he admittedly knew that wasn’t the case. “You really have no reason to be nervous at all, though. It will all go fine.”

He suddenly wished she’d just shut up and leave. He suddenly felt a spark of that same antipathy he used to feel towards her back before he’d realized what a powerful force for good she was. He thought of her lips against Bellamy’s and he wanted to throw something. That thought sobered him, though. He had no right to think such things. He couldn’t be jealous. It would be pointless. Even if Clarke and Bellamy weren’t so close, there would never be space for him. Anywhere. Not given all his damage. Not given his fucking need for prosthetics just so he could look marginally human. They were both beautiful as gods. Glorious and perfect, and he was a leper. He was the charity case they had chosen to shine their light on. That was all. But the gods would only ever love the gods.

“You feel okay?” Clarke asked, suddenly jerking him from his dismal thoughts and leaving him reeling.

“Dandy. Sorry, I just...I don’t know. Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“Yeah, definitely. We can talk about whatever you want, Murphy.”

“Bellamy told me you kissed him,” he said suddenly, surprising and irritating himself. He hadn’t meant to confront her about this, not even casually. But the words were out there, now.

“Ah, did he? That’s odd considering how he’s been acting…” she sounded upset, and now he knew that he was the one taking pleasure from her pain. Her tired, frustrated tone pleased him.

“How’s he been acting?” He tried not to let any emotion leak into his voice. He didn’t want to upset her further by letting her get a peek at what a selfish prick he could be.

“Just…he claims he wants to try to have something, but it feels like he’s retreating from me.” The disappointment in her voice finally reached his heart and mixed with a definitive guilt brought about by his utter relief that there was such trouble in paradise to form a genuine sliver of empathy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly, finding that he didn’t think Clarke’s current mood suited her well.

“It’s alright, I just need to have a talk with him. Figure out what’s holding him back, I guess.”

Murphy didn’t doubt that Bellamy would lose any and all reservations through that talk. He’d have to come to his senses when faced with Clarke’s overwhelming will and wiles. They’d probably be an indisputable item by the end of the day. He felt green all over again. 

“I’m sure you'll win him over.” He was certain that he was right. Clarke was the sort of person who could probably have whoever she wanted in the end.

“I hope so. I think…I think I really like him. But please, promise you won't repeat any of this, especially not to him.” She sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable, and through this Murphy could see the depths of her feelings, and it made him feel closer to her. He was always vulnerable, that was the nature of his life now. So, it was good to know even the golden goddess, Clarke Griffin, had her weaknesses.

“I promise,” he assured her, taking another bite of his apple, and noting that it didn't taste so fresh now. He wondered if he’d been away from it so long that it'd had a chance to brown and dry.

He thought about tomorrow and he told Clarke he was tired. It was the truth, and she left. He didn't bother to finish his now tasteless apple, despite that he knew the doctor’s daughter would have his head for such a thing.

He just wanted to sleep and slip into a more natural darkness. And dream. Perhaps, he'd have nightmares, yes, he often did. But he'd see. And that was all that really mattered.

***

Well. They definitely felt weird. He thought at times that the discomfort would be enough to drive him mad. He felt like a doll with two big buttons sewn in place. Pointless ornaments to make a facsimile of humanity look a little cuter. A little less eerie.

This was it.

This was all it fucking was!?

This change he'd put so much stock into? It didn’t feel like any change at all. 

He'd been so stupid to think that they could make a difference. That they’d be some sort of miracle that would make him suddenly feel like he could stand to be seen. That he wasn't just a dark blot in a world of beautiful people.

His skin still felt tight and he could trace the jagged lines that marred it. Even on his face, deep, rough cuts that wouldn't heal. The skin on his lower legs didn't even feel like skin. Long pants. Always. His ass still ached at times, like a ghost pain to remind him that he really was just a doll. Play and play until you grow bored, then rip out its buttons, and toss it away.

Maybe some kind child or two might find it later. Put some stuffing back in, help it find new buttons and clothes. Have their own sort of fun with the dolly, playing house and doctor, taking good care of their little toy.

But children grow up and fall in love with one another. And dolls never do. Dolls just watch from the shelf with eyes that cannot see.

And collect dust.

***

* * *

Bellamy hadn't seen him with his prosthetics yet, in fact, he still wasn't sure if anyone had ever told his roommate that he was getting them.

He wasn't sure where the other man was, but he figured he'd be back soon. He didn't really want Bellamy to see him with these farces in his face. Everyone who'd seen him so far had assured him that they looked great, but…Shitty glass could never fill such gaping holes, and he felt ridiculous for having thought they might. 

Had he promised Bellamy that he would never try to kill himself? He couldn't remember, and he wasn't even sure he'd ever valued promises very highly, anyway.

He could still feel his ribs. Poking out through his skin like they were trying to burst through and see the world. How long would it take for them to succeed? How many meals need he miss before his heart forget to beat? 

He reached his hand up high to touch the bottom of the bunk above him and thought of the inevitable night it would first go empty. A boy and a girl elsewhere, entwined. The gods curving and merging to create a universe of their own.

Raven had said she was his friend, but she didn't come around much anymore. Perhaps she'd been the first to grow bored. Perhaps that was good. Already one less griever for the inevitable night where it became too much and sharp opened soft to spill red.

Not that he had anything sharp. And not that he’d really go back on that possible promise. He was just tired and the stupid acrylic eyes were uncomfortable and he wanted to go outside and be surrounded by trees and the sound of running water, but he didn't want to be seen, and no one would ever let him venture out that far, anyway.

He heard the door slide open quickly and heavy plodding footsteps followed. He turned to his right to face the wall, wanting his back to be to Bellamy.

“Murphy, you awake? Clarke told me you got prosthetics, I want to see.”

Ah, so he knew. Good. At least it wouldn't be an uncomfortable surprise, then. 

He sat up in his bed like he was tearing a bandage off. Might as well get this over with. Face Bellamy's friendly scrutiny and get on with his life. 

“Holy shit! They look so good! Like seriously, if I didn’t know better I really wouldn’t be able to tell…I didn’t think they'd look this good.” Bellamy sounded oddly excited, perhaps he was just relieved that his days of gazing into gaping sockets were finally over. That would make sense.

Murphy couldn't help but feel a bit better due to Bellamy’s undeniably genuine admiration. Maybe they _would_ help somehow. Maybe his faith in them hadn’t been entirely misplaced. As long as Bellamy liked the way he looked now more, then it was worth it.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said wryly, trying to smile.

“Well, I promise they look great. You'll be back to your pretty boy self in no time.”

“Pretty boy?”

“I always thought so. Still do, especially with how long your hair is getting.”

Murphy instinctively brought his hand up to run it through his hair, feeling its tangles and its length. He wondered why Bellamy felt the need to flatter him with such unbelievably stupid bullshit. He’d never been pretty, and now he was just deformed. But his hair really was long, there was that.

“Should I get it cut?”

“No, I like it.” And then Bellamy’s hand was on his head, combing through his hair, gently working through those tangles. Bellamy forced him to scoot over and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Murphy would have done anything to make that moment last forever. He truly would have.

But Bellamy’s hand soon disappeared and he was left with just the memory of such a sweet, sacred sensation.

“So…Clarke told me she was going to have a talk with you,” he mumbled, still stupidly curious how things were going between the two of them. Really, their potential fling shouldn't concern him, and yet it seemed to be all he could think about lately. Perhaps that was simply a product of being outrageously pathetic. “How’d that go?”

He could hear Bellamy sigh, and felt his breath, warm and subtle against his face. “I don’t…I’m not sure, really.”

Well that answer gave him literally nothing to go off of. He felt a sudden surge of frustration, caught at the crossroads of needing to know and not wanting to pry. “What’d she have to say, though?” He felt like an obnoxious little bug. Like a pesky kid brother who wouldn't stop pestering his sibling about their girlfriend, asking for details that weren't even fit for his ears. 

“Nothing. Just more of the same. I mean, good, sweet things but…”

“Then what's your hold up?”

Bellamy sighed again, Murphy felt the mattress shift and stir for a moment before the other man’s shoulders and hips began jabbing into his own. They were now sitting side by side on a tiny twin bed and their proximity made his heart shudder. “I really don’t know, Murph…” He whispered eventually, a sort of mental exhaustion evident in his tone. “I think I might just be an idiot.”

“Well that’s a given,” Murphy whispered back, fondness lacing his words in a way that made it clear he was teasing. “But you have to have a better reason than just that. I thought you liked her?”

“I do. A lot. But I don’t…I’m not sure if it’s enough. I mean, I’ve never…Really been in love. So, I can’t say if that’s what I’m feeling…” There was a bush somewhere being thoroughly and properly beat. Murphy could sense that Bellamy was refusing to voice something vital, and it bothered him. Bellamy had told him that he trusted him, and yet he still wouldn’t let him get more than a peek at his vulnerabilities. It felt unfair. After all, Murphy’s own were imprinted upon his body. “Murphy, have you ever been in love?”

And if that question wasn't unfair, then he didn’t know what was. Especially since he hadn’t a clue how to answer it. Had he? Who could say. He’d thought he’d love Raven, if only for a breadth of a moment, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe he’d just become temporarily infatuated with her because she was the first person to treat him like a human-being and show him genuine compassion after he'd returned from his time with the grounders. It’d been easy to cling to her, easy to make claims of love. But like Bellamy, he couldn’t say what he had felt. And he couldn’t say what he was feeling now, either. Why he was so upset about Clarke and Bellamy being together. Why his heart was beating so fast now.

“Um…No?” It was the only answer he dared to give. If he had answered in the affirmative Bellamy would’ve certainly asked him to supply him with details he could not offer. And besides that, ‘no' felt right. Because…because he couldn’t be in love. There’d be no point to it. Only pain, which he’d had more than enough of for one lifetime. So no love. It’d definitely be best to avoid such things 

“Why does that sound like a question?” Now Bellamy’s tone was the teasing one. Murphy couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or not. He regretted having started this conversation and desperately wanted to move on from it. And yet, Bellamy was being so cavalier about the possibility of Murphy having loved, that he almost felt as though maybe it wasn’t such a ridiculous, outlandish concept, after all. Maybe it’d be best to acknowledge what it was he felt regardless of whether such feelings stood a shot at being requited or not. He’d still feel it even if he remained unwilling to own up to it, wouldn’t he?

“Because I don’t know either. I don’t know how it feels and if I’ve ever felt it, either, okay?” So perhaps he was being a bit passive aggressive, but at least now he was being honest.

“Sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just curious.”

“I’m not upset,” Murphy told him through grit teeth that suggested otherwise. “I just think this is a stupid conversation.”

“What’s stupid about it, Murphy?”

That was it. He really couldn't take talking about this anymore. Bellamy just didn't seem to get it. That seemingly banal conversations were no longer so for him. That so many things had become loaded in so many ways that not even he could hope to unravel them. “Fuckin’ everything,” he muttered, wishing Bellamy would go away and give him some space. Bellamy’s bony body pressing against his was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic.

“Wait…you don’t…you aren't in love with Clarke, are you?” Bellamy's voice was soft and tight. Pitying. It made his stomach churn to hear it.

“No. Now could you just leave me the fuck alone?” He was aware that he was regressing. Being a moody bitch and pushing people away. He didn't care, though. Feeling Bellamy’s warmth leave his side and hearing the door of their room slam shut was a relief. He could finally breathe again.

***

* * *

“Well, how ‘bout that. You look good, Murphy.”

“I’m sure,” he mumbled sarcastically, wishing that he could roll them. The prosthetics, that is. Which Raven was currently scrutinizing as she was seeing him with them in for the first time.

“I’m serious. You do desperately need a haircut, though.”

“Bellamy said he likes my hair…”

“Oh, did he? To each their own, I guess…Maybe you should get Clarke’s opinion as a tiebreaker sometime.”

He didn't want to offend her by telling her that he didn't need a tiebreaker. That if Bellamy liked the hair, then it was going to stay on his head and that was that. “Yeah, maybe…”

“Unless Bellamy’s opinion is the only one that really matters to you, that is.” Dammit. What an intuitive little asshat. How had she managed to suss that one out? And she sounded so obnoxiously satisfied with herself, too.

“Why would his opinion even matter to me?” He was trying so hard to come off as convincing and to keep his voice from wavering. He was almost positive that he was completely and utterly failing, though. His voice was as unsteady as a table with uneven legs.

“No. We’re not doing this. I’m not going to sit here and tell you what you already know, Murphy.”

“But I...What do you think I know, Raven?” It was a genuine question. And the annoyance decorating his tone was genuine, as well. He was sick of people making assumptions about him. Even if those assumptions were sometimes, usually, exactly right.

“This is ridiculous. You’re being immature.”

Well. He was only 17, after all. What did she want from him? Not to mention that it was so damn hard to figure out what other people were thinking or leaving unsaid when he was unable to see their facial expressions. Conversations were far more confusing and exhausting than they had used to be. It’d be so much easier if people would spell shit out for him instead of assuming that he could read minds.

“I just really don't know what you're tying to get at.”

“Are you that stupid or just that deep in denial?”

Ouch. He liked the fact that Raven treated him like a normal person and gave him an appropriate amount of crap and all, but her words didn't usually actually sting him. Those had, though, and he wasn't sure why. Insecurities about his deficient education? Maybe. A skimpy Sky Box schooling could do that to a boy. Or maybe it was just because he really like denial. It was cozy.

“Stupid. Probably.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking both. Like what is it? Internalized homophobia or something?”

His body was overheating. God, it was hot. Like stupid Earth and its lack of AC outdoors. Stupid fluctuating temperatures. It was making his skin crawl. He hated heat like this. It reminded him of fire. He was breathing too fast again, or maybe not fast enough? He wasn’t sure, but he was dizzy. And he could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Was that normal? He couldn’t remember if it’d ever been this loud before. No, this was stupid. After all he’d been through he was panicking about this, seriously? She wasn’t even right! It wasn’t that, no, he didn’t care if he was gay or shit, but…it was just…Bellamy.

Of fucking course he fucking loved him.

He knew that. He’d known that. But Raven was right about that denial bit and all. Because he cared too much. It wasn’t at all what he’d felt for Raven. It was so much stranger and so much worse. It made his stomach hurt just thinking about the idiot. He hated it, this love thing. It was just a new style of torture. A nearly unbearable one. All those stupid century-old songs from the pre-disaster Earth had been so off-the-mark. Love was not all you needed. He wanted no part of it.

“Murphy? Hey, I’m just kidding, don’t freak out. Listen, I’m not going to tell him or anything.”

“You better not,” he mumbled, forcing himself to take a deep, shuddering breath.

“I won’t. But…Are you alright?”

Not really. Not even approximately okay. Out of all the things that the grounders had cost him, he never thought he'd be caught up on something so superficial. That the way he looked would ruin him. Or maybe it was more than that. More than the scars and the burns and the glass. Because his disability and damage certainly didn’t help things, either. After all, Bellamy could have anyone he wanted. The man literally looked like a marble statue. As far as he could remember.

Which wasn’t much. And fuck if that fact wasn't depressing in and of itself.

But Bellamy was gorgeous. That much he knew for certain. And Clarke, perfect, delightful Clarke, loved him, too, and he didn’t seem to be giving even _her_ the time of day. So why was Murphy’s accursed heart even bothering to put him through this turmoil?

He’d always be broken, there was no changing that. He'd been an undesirable all his life, and now he was even more so. No one would want a fucking deformed boyfriend that they had to babysit 24/7. That was an irrefutable, undeniable fact.

And besides all that, Bellamy was straight, anyway.

So no, he wasn’t all that alright, actually.

“No, of course not,” he hissed, shaking his dizzy head, feeling like his brain was loose and jostling about. “But I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Are you sure, beca-"

“Yes, I’m sure, Raven. Very sure.”

***

* * *

**I don't like this chapter much. It feels too much like a filler despite that it really isn't because I need to set the stage for shit, but meh, sorry, it's just kind of dull, I promise more interesting stuff is coming soon. Anyway, thanks Isthatawalrus and blueparacosm for your comments. And honestly, really appreciated your kindness, blueparacosm, and I hope that you're doing alright, as well. Also, as always, thank you guys for the bookmarks and kudos. And thanks for reading.**

**-See you in a week!**


	8. Absolution

He wanted a new roommate. Knowing that Bellamy was always above him, scantily clad in nothing but boxers, was just frustrating now. In more ways than one. He’d always felt _something_ for Bellamy. Ever since he’d first met him. First followed him around like a reverential puppy dog. And maybe that was why he'd completely lost his shit when Bellamy had kicked that crate out from under him. He’d made a fool of himself so many times for Bellamy. Always following his stupid orders and trying to enforce his stupid rules. And for what? For Bellamy to kill him, apparently.

He’d been his fucking devotee, and yet Bellamy had been willing to snap his neck and toss him away. That little bitch Charlotte, though? The actual killer? She got Bellamy’s sympathy rather than the one who had genuinely thought that he was his friend?

Fuck no. He didn’t want to relive this. Didn't want to think of it. He thought he was entirely over that particular trauma, but apparently not. After all, it hadn't happened all that long ago. What had it been? A couple months or so since Bellamy had tried to murder him. And here he was in love with the asshole? Ridiculous. 

But Bellamy, so sorry, so sweet, so shatterproof. Who didn’t want him dead anymore. Who had confirmed that yes, now, finally, they were in fact, friends.

It was the middle of night, or so he figured based upon how much time seemed to have passed since Bellamy had crawled up into his bunk and said goodnight. It was deadly quiet, like the earth itself was slumbering. Like he was the only soul still awake. Like it’d be okay to cry because no one would hear him.

He wished Bellamy _had_ just killed him. That he’d hung for a second longer and broken once and for all. Then he wouldn't have to worry about any of this. About loving the friend who had once been so ready and willing to discard him.

Eyeless and scarred he hardly felt human anymore. Felt like people didn’t treat him much like one, either. But had they ever? Had he ever been anything but chattel? Strung up for the sake of an example. A disciplinary warning at the hands of the man he now adored. His body never seemed to belong to himself. It was always being used for one thing or another, wasn’t it?

He wondered if the rope had left a scar around his neck. He couldn’t feel anything, and if it had, it’d be the least vibrant of his collection, so he wasn’t sure why he cared. But he did.

He hated himself for crying. He did it too frequently. And was beginning to do it for stupid reasons (case in point). There seemed little point in crying over something that wasn’t a violent, disfiguring pain now, yet here he was, again.

He tried to be as quite as he could, wanting badly to blend in with the still of the night. He wiped his acrylic eyes, hoping that the force of his stupid tears wouldn’t be enough to dislodge them or some shit. He swiped at his nose, momentarily forgetting himself and sniffling just a touch too loudly.

“Murphy? You awake?” Fuck. Bellamy’s voice wasn’t even sleep addled. He’d probably been awake the whole time, lying statuesque and wondering what it was his roommate was doing down below.

Well, there'd be no real use in pretending now. “Yeah,” he whispered, trying not to allow his emotions to shake his voice up.

“Alright. And…are you crying?” Fuck. When had he become so transparent? Why could everyone seem to see through him lately? Stupid, sighted shitheads.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled petulantly. He’d been curt and moody around Bellamy for days now, so such a remark must hardly be unexpected. Honestly, he wondered why Bellamy was still putting up with his shit. Why he hadn't moved out yet. Maybe because there were no open rooms? Yeah. That was probably it.

“Not gonna happen.” The sound of a strong, solid body hitting the floor. Graceful feet slapping down against tiles. The mattress shifted and Murphy groaned, annoyed, hoping it was too dark for Bellamy to see his ugly, wet face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing. Go away. Let me sleep.”

“No. You weren't even trying to sleep anyway. Now tell me.”

“What do you want from me, Bellamy? I cry a lot, I’m a pussy, it’s no big mystery.”

“You don’t really cry much at all, all things considered. Only when something’s happened or you’ve had a nightmare or something trudged up bad memories…When something is really bothering you, I mean, so spill.”

“Nightmare,” he mumbled, glad that Bellamy had supplied him with the perfect excuse.

“Okay. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No. I’m not five.”

“I know, Murphy. You’re going to be eighteen in just a few days, aren’t you?”

“Am I? There’s some loser out there actually keeping track of what the date is? And how do you know when my birthday is?”

“I just asked Abby. She knows some surprising things. I think she helped deliver you or something.”

“Ew.”

“That’s not even gross.”

“Just the way you said it…”

“Okay, now you _are_ acting like you’re five.”

He grunted disgruntledly and crossed his arms over his chest like the child he had been accused of being. It was an act, though, of course. He was certainly in better spirits than he had been before Bellamy had hopped down and started pestering him. That was another annoying about Bellamy. The way he somehow always managed to at least marginally cheer him up.

“So, anyway…You sure you don’t want to talk about your nightmare?” Ah, but even Bellamy for all his positive attributes could get on his nerves at times. No one could seem to understand that Murphy wasn’t the sort that would ever open up and have a heartfelt one-on-one about how he felt. Sure, there’d be the occasional facsimile of such a conversation, like the one he’d had with Bellamy immediately after they’d wrestled for the rifle, but that had been, in many respects, vague and dire. A deep, detailed conversation, with no time restriction and no pressing purpose? Nah. He wasn’t interested in that shit.

Bellamy, Clarke, and Raven, they all knew too much already. Hell, in his opinion, anyone who so much as looked at him would already know too much. All that which was so deeply imprinted upon his soul was also written on his body. So no, he didn't see why he should tell Bellamy anything more.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he spat, making sure to lace his words with every ounce of irritation that he felt. 

He heard Bellamy sigh again and began to grow sick of the sound. “But Murphy…Clarke and Abby think that you should be seeing a therapist, and I agree with them. You can't keep bottling things up and trying to deal with everything by yourself.”

Ugh, not this garbage again. “I don’t want to go to fucking therapy. It wouldn't help.”

“How do you know it wouldn’t?”

“Because nothing could. I’m always going to be…like this. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, of course, I will. I don't care how you act. I just want…I just want things to be as good for you as they can possibly be. I just want to help you in any way possible, and I'll keep trying to even if you don't want my help.” There was that terse edge to his voice now, his stubborn streak showing. It was all deep and firm and undeniably hot. There was only one thing Murphy wanted from him in that moment, and he knew that he could never have it.

“Well. You’re right, I don’t want your help. I’ve always done just fine on my own, thanks.”

“But you don’t have to, anymore! You have friends now!”

“Maybe _now_ is too late! Maybe, if back when I thought we had first become friends, maybe if he had agreed instead of trying to kill me, maybe I wouldn’t fucking need therapy now, now would I?” The venom in his voice was enough to surprise even himself. His stomach immediately began churning, and he wished he could swallow everything he had said. Self-hatred welled up inside of him, and he knew that its presence was justified.

“I thought…You told me you forgave me…I…” God. His voice was shaking now, stripped of the power and glory it had possessed before. Stark and vulnerable. It was shaken by emotions Murphy couldn't quite identify. Something like fear. 

“No, I do. I’m sorry, Bellamy, I do,” he told him hurriedly, already desperate to make things right.

“You don’t. You want to, but you can’t. Of course, you can’t. Who could? You’re right. I used you. I pretended like you were my friend so that you would do as I asked and then I turned against you and…Murphy, oh but, Murphy, I’m so sorry. You are my friend now, I promise. I’ll never hurt you again. I promise. You’re my friend. My best friend.” And now Bellamy was sobbing. It was all so reminiscent of Raven’s apology to him back in medbay, and again he found himself feeling guilty and wanting it to stop.

He made a soft shushing sound, wishing that he could run his fingers through the other man's hair to soothe him, but not wanting to grope about aimlessly in order to find his head. Instead, he opted for stretching his hand out, palm up, hoping that Bellamy would take it. “It’s fine now. Don’t worry about it, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I’ve just been thinking too much about…everything. But you’re right, we are friends now, and that’s what really matters. And…you’re my best friend, too, so you can stop crying.”

He felt a warm, muscular hand envelope his own and allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips. He still loved him. Despite himself, he did. More every day.

***

* * *

“Murphy!”

He grunted, turning his face to the wall next to him in hopes of getting Bellamy to leave him alone. He was tired. He was always tired. Nothing was more appealing than the thought of spending the rest of his life in this bed.

“But guess what day it is!” Bellamy told him, sounding far too excited for what must be a rather early hour. Murphy wondered how he seemed to have such vast reserves of energy. And he mused that maybe the torture had taken a permanent toll on his own reserves.

“I don’t know, Sunday?” he mumbled, still facing the wall and subtly burrowing his face deeper into the pillow beneath his head. 

“No, it’s Monday, actually. But more importantly, it’s your birthday!”

It was cute that Bellamy seemed to genuinely think he'd care about something so pointlessly stupid. He'd never liked his birthday. Not since his had dad died, at least. But then again, he hadn’t liked much of anything since his dad died. He hadn't celebrated it since. It’d become merely a means of keeping track of how old he was. And then it had become a countdown. 14. 15. 16. 17. Death.

Today, if he were still on the Ark he would have had his trial and then have been discreetly floated. No one would have cared and that would've been the end of it. 18 years of constantly wondering why he continued to bother. Really, it should've come to a close by now.

But now there was Bellamy. Who, well, even if he didn't care about his own birthday, Bellamy seemed to, and he couldn't help but appreciate that. 

He forced himself to turn over into his other side, so that if he had eyes he knew he'd be able to see Bellamy looming over him now. “So?” he muttered indifferently, not really wanting to ruin Bellamy's good mood, but being unable to rouse any real enthusiasm within himself.

“So? So happy birthday, Murph! You're finally a full-fledged adult.”

“Yay,” he mumbled, coaxing a small smile onto his lips in hopes of counteracting his dispirited words. 

He heard Bellamy sigh, as though disappointed by Murphy’s utter lack of zest, and immediately felt bad. He wondered again why Bellamy continued to associate with him. He wasn't fun. Not ever. He was a perpetual downer, the sort of person that was a plague upon the happy. No one could possibly enjoy his company, so why Bellamy stuck around him was a mystery. He didn’t even want to be around himself, really.

“Sorry…I know you want me to be excited, but…I just don't really care.”

“Why not? It's an excuse to get drunk and be the center of attention. What’s not to like?”

“As if I want to be the center of anyone’s attention…”

“Not even mine?”

And there it was. That jolt in his gut that made him feel momentarily sick. Bellamy with his accursedly silver tongue. Saying things that gave him vertigo. It wasn’t fair, really.

“I…” How was he even supposed to reply to that? “I don’t need your attention, either, no.”

“Oh, must you always act like such a hard-ass, Murphy?” There was an undisguisable hint of amusement in Bellamy’s voice, like he knew Murphy well enough by now that he would have been alarmed had he responded differently. Maybe there was something about Murphy’s sulky predictability that was comforting for him. “I mean, hey, I’m man enough to admit that I like _your_ attention.”

Ugh. If only he would stop saying shit like that. If he heard Bellamy speaking to anyone else in such a way, he would assume that he was hitting on them, but as it was him that Bellamy was addressing, him with his defective body and lamentable soul, he knew that wasn’t what was happening here. Bellamy was just teasing him as always, and it was beginning to feel like a cruel and unusual punishment, which was something he was very familiar with, after all.

“You like anyone’s attention, though,” he murmured into his pillow, wishing again that Bellamy would just let him go back to sleep. He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday, he’d much rather sleep through it.

“That’s not…okay, well, yeah, that is somewhat true. But I prefer yours.”

“Over whose?”

“Over, I don’t know. Over…Anyone else’s, I guess.” His words came out fast and stilted, like his tongue was stumbling through the rocky terrain of his mouth. It was odd, and he hardly seemed to resemble the stony, unwavering _‘whatever the hell we want'_ leader. 

“Oh, please…Over a hot chick? You’re a lying asshole.” He said the words cavalierly, as to make it clear that he wasn’t mad at Bellamy for lying, per say, but that he wasn’t about to buy into his bullshit, either.

“I’m not. You’re my best friend, I told you that. Hot girls are a dime a dozen.”

Hell. Well, maybe for Bellamy they were. It’d probably be quicker to list the female members of the 100 that Bellamy _hadn’t_ slept with than it would to list those he had. Murphy, though, had never been popular in that way. Not even before his exile. He’d always been too small, or too violent, too sarcastic, too stupid, just…just always, too _something_.

He’d only been with one girl. Quick and fast beneath a table in the Sky Box common area, looking over their shoulders to make sure no guards were approaching. It’d been for the same reason Raven had approached him, convenience. Both of them simply not wanting to die a virgin. It’d been sloppy and she’d seemed annoyed by him, like she’d wished it had been anyone else, like she wanted it over with despite that she’d been the one to suggest it. She was dead now, anyway. She’d turned 18 before they’d come to Earth. Been floated shortly after their encounter, actually.

Aside from that, well there’d only been the unbearable, unspeakable pain of being held down by hungry warriors.

So, no. Pretty girls weren’t a dime a dozen in his world.

All this thinking put him in a bad mood, and he was more hesitant than ever to open his mouth. He realized that Bellamy was waiting for a reply, though, and forced himself to comply. “Well, you have my attention, Bellamy, so what do you want?”

“I just want to make this a good day for you. The best birthday ever.” It sounded undeniably cheesy, yes, but it was also sweet. He almost found himself believing that Bellamy did have the power to make this a good day. Or, at least, a fairly tolerable one.

“Fine. Not sure it could be better than my seventh, though. My dad borrowed a Monopoly board and…” He snapped his mouth shut, annoyed by the wistful nostalgia that was tinging his tone. He hadn’t ever really talked about his parents in front of Bellamy, and for good reason. Bellamy already knew about most of his trauma, there was no reason that he should know about that which had occurred during his childhood, too.

“Well damn…I don’t have Monopoly, but I still think I can make it a pretty good day.”

Murphy couldn't keep from grinning then, both amused by Bellamy's words and relieved that he hadn't immediately begun grilling him about his family. He realized that he'd cracked the door open a bit, and admired the fact that Bellamy wasn't taking a peek inside. “I couldn't play it now even if you did have it, so…” He finally shifted his body so that he was facing the side of the bunk and slowly stretched his feet down towards the ground before awkwardly coming up into a standing position.

“Good. Now. What do you want to do today, Murph? World is your oyster.” Ha. As if the world could ever be his oyster. And what could he do? Life had kept him trapped in a little box for months now. He hadn't ventured from Camp Jaha since its formation and it was all becoming so very tiresome and suffocating. It felt like he was back up in space, enclosed in small quarters, dreaming of a grand planet with rushing water and room to run.

So, what did he want to do? What did he want to do that he could _actually_ do?

“Can we just…can we just take a walk to a stream or something?”

“Um…I mean technically only the guards are supposed to leave camp.”

Murphy cocked his head to the side, questioning just what Bellamy meant by that. “Since when do you care about technicalities?” he asked him, grinning nervously and hoping that he’d hurry up and give in. He had promised, after all, that they could do whatever he wanted. And this was what he wanted now.

“I don’t but…We’re still kind of at war, you know? I mean, I know no one really talks to you about these things, because you have enough to worry about as it is, but…Kane just left with that grounder we captured, Anya? He wants to meet their commander and try to make peace, but so far…I think they’re pretty pissed about what happened at the dropship.”

Murphy wished he were still sitting down. Bellamy was right, he did have enough on his plate already, and he hated even thinking about the grounders, but he also hated the fact that he was being kept in the dark. As if his world wasn’t dark enough already. “Seriously? We’re trying to make peace with them!?”

“Well…We have to share this planet with them, Murphy, we have no choice.”

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. They were all fucking idiots in his book. He was certain that they would never able to get along with the grounders. They were far too…He wished the Earth would just purge itself of them. He wasn’t as hateful as he had once been. Not anymore. But he still hated them. With every single fiber of his being.

“But hey, we don’t need to talk about this anymore. Not today. You want to go to a stream? Fine. Let’s do it.” Bellamy just seemed desperate to change the topic of conversation. His words came out so fast and jumbled that Murphy had a hard time figuring out what the hell he’d said.

“How? It’s dangerous, then, isn’t it?” As much as he longed to hear the sound of water trickling over rocks and to feel it on his skin, he was scared now. He was always scared. And he fucking hated it. He’d never used to be such a coward. Or at least, he didn’t think he had.

It wasn’t death that he feared. He could deal with death. He still even craved it at times. And he didn’t fear pain much either. It was too familiar for him to fear it. But he still feared the unexpected. The unknown. All that which he could not see. A world of unending possibilities and hazards that needn’t try very hard in order to catch him unawares. That was what he feared.

“A bit. But we’ll be fine, I’ll just _borrow_ a gun.” Bellamy's voice closed around the word _borrow_ , twisting it until it was clear he meant _steal_. Murphy was amused by the thought, but he also really didn't want him getting caught in the act. Who knew what sort of fresh hell that could unleash upon the two of them? “Oh, and I’m still definitely going to grab some moonshine, too.”

***

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**Feels like a weird place to stop, but the next scene is so long I feel like it deserves its own chapter. And it will be one of my favorite chapters, as well, yay.**

**Thank you sapphictomaz, Isthatawalrus, and Elliot for your comments! Sapphictomaz,that was super sweet, and I'm really glad you liked the last chapter! And Elliot, sometimes I feel oddly nervous about leaving a comment, so I feel that, but I really appreciate that you did, thank you!**

**Also thanks to those who left kudos and bookmarks. And to everyone reading this mess. Honestly, given how boring life is right now, checking my email and seeing feedback is a big highlight. Shit, that sounds kind of pathetic, but it's totally true.**

**-See ya next week <3**


	9. Cravings

The world smelled so good that he could half-trick himself into believing he was becoming a super-human with four vastly heightened senses working to make up for the missing one. It was getting colder now, and the world was crisp and oaky. Everything was hushed like it was holding its breath, and his own footfalls rang loud in his ears, making him slightly nervous, so that he constantly tried to tread lighter to keep from alerting the bated world of his presence.

Bellamy was by his side, arms interlocked, gentle guiding tugs and whispered instructions to step over this and mind that. He kept trying to keep himself from shivering as he knew Bellamy would feel the vibrations of his body if he did, but he was so chilled that it was difficult to do so. He wondered how freezing the water would be once they arrived. Perhaps it’d be so cold that his feet would fall right off if he went to wade in it. That wouldn't be optimal.

With every step he could hear the slosh of liquid, as Bellamy was carrying a big canister of alcohol like it was the one provision they couldn't leave home without. Murphy assumed that he had a gun strapped somewhere on his person, but Bellamy was still weird about him and guns. Like he'd rip it off he and finish what he’d started if only he knew which leg it was holstered to.

“Hey, so how old are you anyway, Bellamy?” His teeth chattered ever-so-slightly and he regretted having opened his mouth just for the sake of making idle chit-chat. The quiet had been getting to him, though, as it always did. He didn’t want to attract anything to them, no, but a few soft words would do a lot right now to reassure him of his reality.

“Twenty-three,” Bellamy grunted in-between a slish and a slosh of his canister.

“So, five years, huh?” Murphy mused, thinking that wasn’t so bad. About what he’d expected really. And it was the same for Clarke and Bellamy, anyway.

“Our age difference? Yeah. Why's it matter?”

Why did it? Friends could have any number of years between them. It didn’t matter. It shouldn't. 

“It doesn’t. I just…guess it _is_ good to officially be an adult now. Or whatever.” He didn't want Bellamy thinking of him as a kid, at least. As someone who was sailing in the same tiny boat as his little sister. He never wanted Bellamy to treat him like a younger brother. Just the thought was enough to curdle his stomach acids.

“Yeah, well, I think you had to grow up far too fast. Octavia too. Hell, even I feel like I had to grow up quick. None of us really got the chance to be anything but mini-adults, you know?” Bellamy's voice was gruff, irritated. He was having one of those stupid moments of lamentation for the cruelty of the world. Murphy didn't have those anymore. He had accepted the world for the shit-show that it was. No use wishing for anything different. Anything better.

“You mean because you had to spend your childhood looking out for her and she had to spend hers under the floor?”

“Yeah, exactly. But. I mean, I’d take that any day over not having her. Just hope Lincoln’s taking good care of her…wherever they are.”

Murphy still couldn't believe Bellamy had entrusted his precious sister's care to a grounder. In his books there could be no justification for such an action, and yet he didn’t want to give Bellamy crap for it, or make him worry more than he already was. “If he loves her or whatever…then he wouldn't hurt her. She’ll be fine.” It was incredibly hard for him to believe that a grounder could ever love anyone. Could ever be kind. He'd never seen one exhibit even a hint of humanity.

“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to, um…bring up grounders.”

“Why not? They're my favorite thing to talk about.” Murphy forced some facsimile of a smile onto his face, feeling somewhat relieved that the current weight of his heart couldn't be reflected in his eyes. 

“Right, well. We’re here.” They both stopped walking just as Bellamy said the words. Murphy felt oddly impatient, just standing there, wondering what Bellamy was up to and if he’d need to use his ears to find the actual water.

He could hear the soft dance of slow water, the final reward for their arduous journey and it seemed to call to him, urging him to take the final step. He unhooked his arm from Bellamy and did so, following the gentle sound for a moment until he felt a tug on his arm. “Hey, stop, sit here,” Bellamy said, directing him to the side and then pulling him down until his ass hit a rock, hard and his bones reverberated with the shock of it.

“Oww. Thanks, Bellamy. That felt great.”

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to…but here, take your boots off.”

Murphy quickly obliged, feeling stupidly excited. His life was boring and empty, devoid of any and all excitement, so he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of this pointless trip. He wriggled his toes once they were freed from all barriers, feeling them tap against the moist stone beneath them. Loose particles of wet earth got caught between them, and made him feel like his feet would never be clean again. He moved his feet forward slowly, sliding them out away from his body until they finally found the water. They hit it with a splashing sound that seemed rather noisy to his expectant ears. He couldn’t help but smile, and the expression was genuine this time, as he was close to content now with the water rushing over his feet, ridding them of that newly collected dirt with its fervent, hurried purpose. It _was_ cold, but not unbearably so, and the chill did nothing but wake his body up from a slumber he hadn't even been aware it was in. 

“Worth the walk?” Bellamy asked, his voice sweet and smooth, but surprising as it shook him from his deep reverie.

“Yes. I was beginning to feel like we were up in space again with nothing but rations of recycled urine to shower with.”

“God, Murphy. Why would you bring that up right now?” Bellamy combated his faux-annoyed words with a soft chuckle and Murphy heard the liquid in the canister rush down in a sudden frenzy, ending with the sound of Bellamy chugging it.

He held his hand out expectantly, making up his mind at once to let go of his usual reservations. He didn't always like the shit, no, but he wasn’t about to crap all over his own party. If Bellamy wanted them to both get drunk off their asses, then who was he to refuse him?

Bellamy handed it over, and his hand immediately sagged with the sudden heft. It was heavier than he'd anticipated it would be. Nonetheless, he lifted it up to his lips, feeling for the opening before he dared to begin pouring it down his throat, as he didn’t want to make a fool of himself and become soaked in the stuff. It tasted acrid as always. Like something that was not at all fit for human consumption. He gave the canister back to Bellamy once he felt he'd drank his fill. It was surprisingly strong stuff, and after a few minutes’ time he could already feel his head becoming light and cottony.

“My mom died from this stuff,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, hardly aware of the words his increasingly sloppy tongue was forming.

“Oh…Murphy, I wouldn't have made you drink it if I’d-"

“You didn't make me do anything. I’m an adult, right? I make my own decisions.”

“Sure. I mean, of course, but I wouldn't have brought it if I’d-"

“I don’t hold a grudge against alcohol, Bellamy,” he told him, laughing softly, humorlessly.

“Well. I’m sorry, anyway.”

He felt like a disembodied head and had a sudden craving for crackers. Anything dry and salty, really. Or just more alcohol, that’d be good, too. “Me too,” he whispered back, not quite sure what he meant. He wished he hadn’t handed the canister back.

“What about…what about your dad?”

Murphy felt his eyebrows furrow closer together, the space between them disappearing as his irritation grew. Just because he'd told Bellamy about the death of one of his parents didn't mean that he wanted to talk about the other’s. “Floated,” he mumbled anyway, licking his dry lips and tilting his head up towards the sky he could not see. He'd never paid enough attention to the sky, he realized now. Never took enough note of what clouds looked like, or the colors of a sunrise. 

“Why?” Bellamy’s voice seemed distant, and it was becoming hard to hear him over the rushing water and the buzz of his own anxious brain.

“Stole meds. For me. I had the flu.” It was odd to him, in that moment that lots of water, all together, a vast pool of the stuff, was blue, but a cup of it was clear. He couldn't remember why that was. He knew he’d been told once, but he couldn’t remember. He wondered when he’d forget what the color blue even looked like. Part of him thought that maybe he already had. He couldn’t really call it to mind…Couldn’t call much of anything to mind. Did Bellamy have dimples?

“Oh. At least you got better, I mean…I’m glad you lived.”

“Not from the medicine, though. He swiped the wrong shit. I just got better. That’s all.” He hadn’t been able to picture his father’s face for years now. All he could think of were obscured features and a mop of brown hair that was constantly at risk of becoming a mullet. His mom had made him go to watch him float. He’d never been sure why she’d wanted her son to be stuck with the image of his father being sucked out into the vast emptiness of space in his head. Maybe it was because she blamed him. Wanted him to suffer. To see what he’d done. But that image was fading with all the rest now.

Neither spoke for what felt like quite a significant passage of time. Murphy couldn't stop moving his head from side-to-side, slowly, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Sometimes he hated his mother for what she'd become. For what she'd said and how she'd treated him there at the end. And then sometimes, when he was full of moonshine and the world seemed pretty, he thought he understood her perfectly. It was stupid, and it never lasted long, and it always made him so terribly sleepy, but it dulled all that was wrong until he was only mindful of his existence in this, the present moment. All thoughts of the future had been doused away and everything was more amusing than it had any right to be.

He kept moving his head.

“I’m still really glad you’re alive, though.” Bellamy’s voice caught him completely off-guard. The sound of the cruising water had put him into something of a trance, and it took him a moment to realize that Bellamy was speaking.

“Thanks,” he whispered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He stopped moving and became aware of his proximity to the boy next to him. They were sitting on the same relatively small stone, their breath was intermingling with their words and their hipbones were softly stabbing at each other’s thighs. He wondered what he looked like. He wondered what Bellamy looked like. If he had dimples. “I’m glad you’re alive, too, Bellamy,” he found himself saying, wishing that he had better control over his own mouth, that his tongue would sit still.

“No, I mean, Murphy, Clarke is…she’s lovely,” oh lord, not this again, he was sick of hearing about the two of them at this point, he wished Bellamy’s tongue would sit still, too, “but she’s not…I don’t think I feel it. What I’m supposed to feel.” Ah, so it was like that again, hmm? Bellamy was once again trying to figure out what it meant to be in love. Murphy thought that he should really start going to someone else for advice on this matter. Anyone else. “I think I feel it for like…someone else, you know? But I think I’d rather feel it for Clarke, because I don’t think what I’m feeling now will ever…amount to anything? So I just…I _want_ to love Clarke, and I don’t know why I don’t.”

Well. That at least Murphy could understand. Feelings that would never amount to anything. He had a lot of those. And he wanted so badly to not love anyone. Not anyone at all. But here he was. Bones and breath invading his space and leaving him tipsy and tired. He reached his hand out and Bellamy gave him what he wanted. He took a sip and felt the world he could not see spin and rock beneath him. “So, who _do_ you love, then? And what makes you think they don’t like you back, huh?” Why would anyone not like Bellamy back?

“I don’t think…I shouldn’t say.”

“You _don’t_ think you _shouldn’t_ say? Then say, dumbass.”

“No, I mean, I just can’t tell you.”

“Why not? Why’d you mention it at all if you don’t want to talk about it? It’s not like I give a shit who you have a crush on anyway. You can tell me. I don’t even care.” Murphy was pretty sure that he was making perfect sense, even if he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. All he knew was that his curiosity had been peaked, and of course he was dying to know what lucky bitch had managed to steal Bellamy Blake’s heart.

“That’s the problem. You don’t care.” He sounded sad, almost let-down. It was weird and didn’t suit a man who was normally all chiseled-angles and bravado. 

“What? If you want me to care, I can care. I do.” God, he was confused. He couldn’t focus well even when he was sober, and though his listening skills had vastly improved since he’d lost his sight, his mind still wandered at times and his ears still got lazy. But he did care, so he did his best to block out the noises in his head and the loud thoughts that begged him to shout about just how much he cared, and leaned his head even closer to Bellamy’s so that he could listen. Just listen.

“No. Murphy, it’s…I’m sorry. I know you care. You’re a good friend, I didn’t mean…I just meant…My _crush_ , if that’s even what it is, it’s too stupid to even talk about. Too stupid too think about, really, and I can’t believe I let it get this bad…”

“Oh come on. You’re worried about preserving your pride? Fuck that. You know so much humiliating shit about me. It isn’t fair. I deserve to know some of your stupid little secrets, don’t I?”

“I wish I could tell you. But I’m too much of a fucking coward and I…I don’t want to lose you.” Bellamy’s voice got so quiet at the end, that close as they were, and focused as Murphy was, it was still difficult to hear him. And, naturally, his swimming brain couldn’t for the life of him understand what the man meant.

“Lose me? Why would you? Fuck. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. I mean, I guess, if I died. That’s the only way you’d lose me. So, unless this thing you want to tell me is gonna get me killed, then go ahead and tell me, Bellamy.” He wondered if he’d said too much, if he was getting too close to saying what he wished he could say. He couldn't even remember what he'd said after he’d said it, though.

“No…It’ll never be the same. You might…maybe you’ll be disgusted. You might want to move to a different room…Even if I don’t lose you entirely, I couldn’t stand to lose you at all.” God. Bellamy sounded panicky. It was so weird! His voice was shaking like a finger on a trigger waiting for a kill. He wanted to reassure him, but he was being made to feel uneasy, himself. He couldn't imagine anything so awful that it would instill within Bellamy this much fear and anxiety. He was almost scared to hear it now. Scared to know who Bellamy could love that could cause him so much turmoil.

“Me? Disgusted? Have you seen my face? What right would I have to be disgusted with anyone?” He wasn't sure why he was trying for levity at a time like this. He knew his jokes normally fell flat even when they were spoken in situations that weren’t incredibly tense, but such was his way. “I won’t judge you or anything, I promise,” he whispered, growing more serious now, aware that his own voice was quivering. Really, though, despite that all this anticipation was making him nervous, Bellamy could say anything and he'd still love him. He knew Bellamy. Trusted him. There was no way that the other man could have given himself over to some sort of perverse affection. Whatever he was feeling had to be good and pure, because Bellamy himself was good and pure deep down.

“God, if you weren’t such a self-deprecating little shit I wouldn’t even have to say it. You’d already know. Anyone but you would know by now…”

No. He didn’t know. That wasn’t…That thought in his head now, those words Bellamy was saying, the soft tone. None of it could possibly mean that. Because he was…He was unworthy. He was ugly and mean and disturbed in every sense of the word. He was scarred and tarnished and vile. He was…he was self-deprecating. He was. And Bellamy was…Bellamy…

“Murphy, it’s you that I…I like. It’s you, but that’s not, I mean, I’m going to keep trying to get rid of these stupid fucking feelings, so you don’t need to worry about them, and I’m sorry that I brought them up, I never meant to tell you, I’m just kind of drunk and you’re just…You just make me feel…but it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad were friends, so please don’t freak out, I just want to keep being friends, Murphy. That’s all.” So fast. Words spilling out from Bellamy almost as quick as the beats of Murphy’s heart. Dangerously fast.

And his breath! God, he couldn’t catch it. He’d never be able to catch it! Where even was it? Where was his breath and had the planet been swaying since they’d touched ground or was this motion a new development? Spinning slow around the sun and swaying quick beneath his feet. “Are you fucking with me?” he eventually managed to wheeze out, needing to _know_ , needing to make sure this wasn’t some sick joke. Because what else couldn't it be? It couldn't be real. There was no way in heaven or hell that the human embodiment of fucking perfection could possible feel anything for him beyond amicable friendship. No way.

“Murphy, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad! You promised you wouldn’t judge me, so…”

“I’m not mad!”

“Then why are you yelling?”

“I’m not!” He found his breath then, finally, and he took it in slow, tried to let it calm him. He needed the world to sit still now, please. He needed blood in his brain and alcohol out. He needed his ability to think back. “I’m not mad. But if you…if you get rid of those stupid feelings I sure as hell will be.”

“Huh? Wait, what do you mean?”

“I’m not entirely sure where your lips are, so I’m going to need you to kiss me.”

And he did.

It was funny, because Murphy had been kidding, really. He hadn't thought Bellamy would actually do it, hadn't understood why he would possibly want to. His face was still cut up and his eyes were still forgeries. He didn’t really expect Bellamy to overlook all of that and meet his lips.

But he did. 

It was strange how the sensations of the cold air on his ears and his feet drying off from their time in the water and his head heady and intoxicated, all of that just disappeared. He was aware of nothing but his lips, nothing but the pressure against them, the oddity of having something warm and silken against his mouth. The scent of sweat and moonshine drifted up into his nostrils as the chaste, gentleness of Bellamy’s lips turned into something more fervent and hungry. He soon found himself with a tongue in his mouth that was not his own and a hand on the back of his head, burying itself in his hair, pulling him closer.

He’d never been kissed like this. That girl, the one who was dead now, the one he’d rendezvoused with beneath the table, they’d kissed, yes, but it’d been quick, meaningless, and sloppy. There’d been nothing there but the apparent necessity to rid themselves of virgin lips before frantically colliding their virgin bodies.

But this, this was so different that the two experiences were hardly even comparable. This seemed to mean something, and already it was longer-lasting and, at least on Bellamy’s part, far more competent.

But best of all, this wasn’t at all like anything the grounders had done to him. His lips were one part of his body that they had left untouched, so there was no chance of him getting lost and forgetting who it was that was kissing him. Freaking out like he had with Raven.

He knew full-well that he was safe. With Bellamy. In Bellamy’s arms with Bellamy’s lips on his.

He experimentally moved his tongue forward to brush against Bellamy’s before breaking past the boundary of their joint lips and pushing it into Bellamy’s mouth, wanting to be as close to him as he could be, craving the intimacy that could only come from exchanging tongues and saliva.

But he was breathless and their faces were too close together to allow his nose to do its job, and he was dizzy from exhilaration and alcohol and eventually had to retreat, reclaiming his tongue, then his lips, and pulling back to sit in awkward silence, wishing more than ever that he could see the expression on Bellamy’s face.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” Bellamy asked, sounding pretty breathless himself. And uncertain. Voice still shaken with something like nerves, or maybe by now it was just fervor.

“No, not too much,” he whispered back, surprising himself with a short burst of laughter. He was so fucking confused. Nothing felt real and he would’ve thought he was dreaming if he wasn’t staring into the void of his own wakefulness. But there had to be some other explanation besides that that had actually just transpired, right? Because there was no way…

“Murphy…I think I know for sure what love feels like now.”

“Yeah? Me too. It’s weird.”

“It’s nice.”

“Well, sure. But also fucking weird, you gotta give me that.”

“Alright, fine, yeah. It’s also weird.”

He laughed again, not sure how his heart was managing to beat despite the insurmountable hurtle of having Bellamy confess to him like that. He thought that it’d make quite a lot of sense if he up and died now. Death seemed like a natural consequence of what he was currently feeling. This weird, scary, nice love-thing.

He wasn’t sure what sobriety and the morning would bring. Wasn’t sure if Bellamy’s feelings were genuine enough to last through the night. He was terrified and felt like he was spiraling down towards a far away ground that he could not see. That the impact was coming and that it would shatter him. But he was also happy and drunk and desperate to hold on to this moment. To bathe in it until it had seeped into his skin and flushed out all that had ever been wrong.

So let tomorrow fend for itself, he figured. For now, well…

“No offense to my dad, or Monopoly, but this is definitely my new favorite birthday.”

Bellamy laughed and he did too and then they shut each other up with another kiss and suddenly the world didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

***

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**Wow! So many nice comments! And this reached over 100 kudos! I freaking love you guys, you're the absolute best. A big thank you to: LoovvNoire, swagtastic, sapphictomaz, Kaeden, blueparacosm, and Socioskull! I appreciate you all so much.**

**And, Socioskull, that's a good idea! I think that might be what chapter 13 or 14 will be about...tentatively. There will be interactions with grounders by next chapter, though, because I can't stand to let them be happy for more than 5 seconds, apparently. Anyway, thanks for the kudos and bookmarks, as well. And thank you for reading!** **Also, Happy Easter to anyone who celebrates it.**

**(Also, I sorely overestimated my ability to write about anything other than Murphamy and I apologize for that. Feel like it got the most votes anyway, but I didn't count, so...Oh well. Raven and Clarke will still be in the fic as much as ever, at least.)**

**-Peace**


	10. Implosion

He couldn't sleep. His mind and heart were in a race that neither had a chance of winning. Bellamy was above him, quiet, still, likely unconscious. Part of him had wanted to ask the other to share his bed. Just for a night, just to have the soothing company, the reminder of what now existed between them. But he hadn’t had the courage, so now he was restless and alone.

His thoughts were aggressive in the late hours. They told him that none of this was real. None of this could last. Maybe Raven had told Bellamy how he felt about him, maybe that was it. Maybe he’d already known and the confession had been just for show. Maybe this whole thing was just a product of Bellamy's incessant need to be a hero. He knew his love would save Murphy, so he was offering that feeling which he could never truly feel. Maybe…

Oh God. This was ridiculous. He couldn't take just lying here like this. Not for another second. He repositioned himself so that his legs were hanging off the bed and then fumbled about the frame of the bunks until he found his cane and hoisted himself to his feet. He was quiet when he closed the door, not wanting to disturb his slumbering roommate. He wasn’t ready to talk to Bellamy yet. He needed him to keep sleeping.

He was becoming more familiar with the camp, but circumnavigating it alone was still a nearly insurmountable challenge. If he walked a few paces to the left and then turned left again…There was the door, thank god, slip through it and back out into the crisp air. He had no way of knowing what time it was, but it sounded quiet out, meaning not many were awake yet. The latest hours of the night or the earliest hours of the morning, he’d guess.

“Murphy!” Raven? Well. Apparently she woke up at an ungodly hour. Who knew? He heard clomping footsteps, like she was running, and then suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and a breathless girl by his side. “Happy belated birthday. I looked everywhere for you yesterday after Clarke told me that it was your birthday, she did too, but…where were you?”

“I just…went on a walk with Bellamy.”

“He took you outside of camp? Seriously?” Her voice was taut, coiled as a cobra and he wasn’t sure who she meant to strike with it. He still felt almost as if he was sleepwalking.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. He was used to Clarke being a bit of a mother-hen, but he wasn't about to let Raven start parenting him, too.

“Besides that we still haven’t negotiated peace with the grounders, you mean?”

“It was fine. We were fine.”

“You were lucky. And you know it. You know more than anyone what they’re capable of.”

“Oh, stop. You’re right, I do. But they kept me locked in a cage the entire time they had me, and I’m fucking sick of cages! So if I want to leave camp for a day, if I’m willing to take that risk, then that’s none of your damn business.” To a certain extent, though, she was right. He had been stupid yesterday. The risk had been too great. But, shit, that unprecedented reward! He’d do it again, of course he would. Stupid or not, it’d been worth it.

“Murphy…Ok, I’m sorry. Just please be careful. No amount of freedom is worth your life.”

“Hmm, let’s agree to disagree on that one.” Last night would've been well worth his life, really. Had that been the bargain he would've thought it a fair exchange. 

“What’d you do, anyway? Doesn’t sound that exciting…”

He definitely shouldn't tell her. It was way, way too soon to start telling people about what had happened. About what the future may hold. He didn't want to jinx it, after all. “We just sat by a stream and got drunk.”

“That’s pathetically boring. I could've given you a much more exciting birthday. I mean, if you were going to leave camp you could've at least gone for a ride in the rover or something.”

“I liked it the way it was,” he whispered, distantly aware of the way his lips were upturning themselves and of the ghostly sensation of Bellamy’s against them.

“Oh shit. I should’ve known. You two off alone together, drunk and uninhibited…It finally happened, didn’t it?” She sounded so satisfied with herself, pleased with her obnoxious powers of perception, no doubt. It really wasn't fair how easily she could read him.

“Raven, I don’t even fucking know what _it_ is,” he mumbled, his words a half-truth, as he really wasn't altogether sure what sort of assumption she was drawing.

“I’m not sure, but it's clear that you learned that Bellamy feels the same way you do.”

Somehow just hearing her say that was enough to steal the breath from his lungs again. He’d been there, he’d lived through that night, and yet he was shocked anew every time he thought of it. 

“Maybe. I mean, he says he does, but…I don’t really believe him.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“So, you think he’s lying, too!?”

“No, dipshit. I just know that you think you’re unworthy of love, so of course you don’t believe him.”

He wished he was sitting down. He wished he had any damn clue where a chair was. “I…I don’t…I’m not, though. Bellamy is…in an entirely different league. You know that he is, you have eyes.” Poor choice of words aside, he knew he was right. Anyone capable of seeing, anyone who took a passing glance at the pair of them would be able to tell that something was amiss. That Bellamy was be settling for someone so far below him that it wasn’t even funny. He’d never been worthy of Bellamy, and now he really wasn’t even worthy of being in the same room as him. He was an ugly, unclean, tainted thing that poisoned everything he touched.

“Dammit, Murphy. I shouldn't say this, because I am still so damn sorry and really don’t want to like…trigger you or anything, but I wouldn’t have tried to sleep with you if I didn’t think you were attractive. You may have scars, Murphy, and your eyes may be glass, and you’re hair may be utterly tragic right now, but there’s just…there’s something about you, and it’s no big surprise that Bellamy sees it.” She paused and he felt her hand give his shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. “And besides that, real love isn’t about looks or leagues, anyway. You two have always had an intimate connection, you’ve always understood each other, so if he says he loves you, then I’m pretty sure that just means he loves you and you’re going to have to accept that.”

Stupid Raven making his tear ducts start getting all moist. He hadn’t ever cried over something like this. Over an emotion other than bitter sadness or unbearable agony. Over something like gratitude. Relief. Hope. Love. Those ridiculous things he hadn’t felt for years. Something icy was thawing inside him, melting into a pool of water that was beginning to slowly drip down his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he whispered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable now. He’d never been good with emotions and he certainly didn’t like crying in front of others. “I’m um…I’m still tired so I’m just going to go back to sleep now.”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice dripping with amused doubt. “Go on then.”

He spun around quickly, holding his cane in one hand and wiping at his face with the other. He made it back to his room in a stupor and plopped back down on his bed feeling distinctly shaken and stirred.

“Murphy?”

Shit, he’d gone and woken Bellamy now.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he told him, voice congested by snot and tears, he needed to sniffle, but he didn’t want Bellamy to know that he was crying. He cried too frequently now, and he was sick of doing so. Even if these tears were of a more pleasant sort.

“You didn’t, I’ve been awake for awhile. Didn’t know you’d left the room, though.”

“Well…I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither, really…” Bellamy paused and Murphy heard blankets rustling before a heavy thud hit the ground and the bed shifted beneath him. He could feel Bellamy’s breath hot on his skin, and it made his blood turn warm inside his veins. “God, my head is killing me.”

“Shouldn’t have drank so much…”

“Had to. I needed the courage.”

“Not sure how you could be stupid enough to think I wouldn’t love you.”

“I didn't even know if you liked guys, much less me, Murphy. Give me some credit, it was stressful.”

Murphy laughed softly and nodded his head. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you did, then. I was never going to.”

“Never?”

“As if I could afford to get my heartbroken right now. No, thank you. Enough of me is broken already.”

He felt Bellamy’s arm snake around his waist, he pulled him in close and Murphy felt the weight of a head on his shoulder. “I promise I won’t break it, then. I’ll take good care of it.”

Murphy tilted his head, guestimating where Bellamy’s lips were and moving his own face forward to catch them. He felt skin and mentally cursed himself for missing as he wondered what part of Bellamy’s head he was even kissing right now. Bellamy laughed and moved his head back for a moment before fixing things and kissing Murphy properly. It was a quick peck, really. Not like the night before at all, and yet it meant just as much. Even sober, even in the light of day, Bellamy still loved him. Truly. And it felt incredible.

* * *

***

He’d managed to avoid her for a day and a half. Which was impressive considering that he never knew who was around him at any given time or if he needed to hide. It was also impressive given how many times she’d dropped into his room unexpectedly. It’d been 3 times. And he’d successfully pretended to be asleep 3 out of 3 of those times.

But now here she was. He should’ve expected her. After all, it was her mom that’d he was currently being examined by and all. But Abby had summoned him, wanting to make sure he liked the prosthetics and that his burns were healing properly and all. He’d had no choice but to go to MedBay.

“Finally. You’ve had me worried, Murphy. I’ve dropped by your room a few times, but you were asleep. Seems like you’ve been sleeping a lot lately, are you feeling alright?” Poor Clarke. All unsuspecting. Caring. Kind. Undeserving of his selfish, evasive ass.

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. Just lazy, I guess. Nothing better to do, you know?”

“Right…well, I’m glad you’re okay, then. Sorry I didn’t get to see you on your birthday.”

“Nah, that was my fault.”

“You went on a walk with Bellamy?”

“Yeah. Guess you talked to Raven?”

“I did. Wish I could talk to Bellamy, though. But he’s avoiding me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like her heart wasn't on the line. Like Bellamy and him weren’t inadvertently breaking it together.

“Really?”

“You know…Finn was a lot better at this than Bellamy is.”

Hold up. Okay, he was genuinely confused now. “Better at what?”

“Hiding the fact that there was someone else.”

Fuck. “Clarke-"

“It’s fine, though. You think that after everything I can’t put up with a little disappointment for your sake, Murphy? I knew he never loved me, so I’m just…genuinely glad that he loves you. I’d rather he love you than me. You need it more. And besides, I love you, too. As a friend, I mean. So I’m happy for you two.” Her voice was hard as she said it, emotionless and stilted. It made him uneasy despite the kindness of her message.

“Are you sure?” he asked nervously, anxiously running his hands up and down his thighs as he sat perched on the examining table.

“Yes. Sorry, I know I may not sound like I mean it, because I am in love with him, you know? So it does hurt, but…but you deserve to be happy more than anyone, Murphy, and I would’ve given anything to make you feel better, so…Yes, I’m sure.”

“Thanks…” he whispered, finding that he felt very similar now to how he had when he’d last spoken to Raven. He refused to cry this time, though. Refused to let tenderness bring him to tears. “And…I love you, too, Clarke. And I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. Just be happy. That’s what I want for you.”

He heard footsteps and was alone again. Waiting for Abby and thinking hard about the dazzling daughter she’d raised.

* * *

***

They were every fucking where. Like an infestation. He could practically feel them crawling across his skin. Their language felt toxic in his ears, every word an indecipherable threat.

Bellamy’s hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him from running. From screaming.

Clarke was right, he should have just stayed in his room. But as per usual he had felt the need to be a stubborn jackass, and here he was. Standing in the main hall listening to their gruff voices speaking in a tongue that never failed to sound harsh and menacing to him. 

“Ai ste gada emon blinka.”

Wait. Wait.

Wait.

He knew that voice. It was one of those that was etched into his skin, reverberating every night in his darkest dreams. He knew it well.

His legs felt gelatinous beneath him and he was certain that he was only able to remain standing by virtue of his cane. He’d made bad decisions before. Almost every decision he’d ever made, in fact, he’d admit to having been the wrong one. But leaving his room! God, he was an idiot. How had he not foreseen this? How had he thought that he would be able to bear this? 

Anger and fear welled within his heart, constricting it and flushing out the comfort he'd been able to draw from Bellamy thus far. He’d never wanted so badly to kill. He’d always been violent, always been one to lash out, start fires, pry off wristbands, and there was a part of him that was frustrated by the docility that had been forced upon him when he’d lost his vision. He’d always wanted to learn how to properly use a gun. How to aim, fire, and defend himself. But he’d been exiled before Clarke and Bellamy had found their fancy little stash of rifles, and he’d already been rendered incapable of ever using one by the time he’d returned. Not to mention that Bellamy had sworn to never let him touch one again after he’d gone and pointed the only one he’d ever held at his own head.

Still though, blind or not, if he had one now, he’d shoot. He’d aim for the source of that voice, and he’d empty a chamber or two.

“Murphy?” Bellamy sounded deeply concerned. Of course he was, he had every right to be. He still had his hand on Murphy’s shoulder, and he had to be able to feel him shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the fury or fear that was causing his body to quiver, but either way, he couldn't keep still.

His mind was racing as he tried to figure out how he could possibly go about killing that man. He felt so sickeningly powerless, and he fucking hated it. After everything these monsters had put through, was he really just going to stand here and act like they were honored guests in _his_ home!? Like he supported Kane’s peace treaty and was perfectly fine with them being here!?

But what else could he do?

He was what he felt. Powerless. Useless. Weak.

And so damn insignificant that what the grounders had done to him didn’t remotely matter. They were pardoned for raping him and ripping out his eyes. They were being offered peace and a nice little tour.

He needed a fucking gun and he needed it now.

He moved his hand back, reaching for Bellamy’s thigh and getting a surprised gasp in response. He wondered if his sort of, potential boyfriend thought that he was trying to feel him up. The thought would be funny under any other circumstances, but right now his heart still had no room for humor or Bellamy. Just pure unadulterated bloodlust. And he was fine with that. He needed that hunger to drive him to get revenge. No one else was going to do it for him, no one else cared, so he had to take action.

After a few seconds of groping he was forced to accept that Bellamy wasn’t wearing a holster. It’d been a longshot, but he was disappointed nonetheless.

“Murphy?” Bellamy asked again, sounding incredibly startled now. Murphy knew he was acting altogether erratic and doing a very effective job of scaring the man he loved, but he didn’t have time to care about that right now, either.

Maybe a knife would be better.

No aiming necessary, just follow the voice, get real close, and blindly stab until he was drenched in blood and listening to the breathless gasping of the man who had first tainted him. If only he could jab out his eyes first. But his was a beggar, and thus, he knew he couldn't also be a chooser.

But, god, where would he get a knife? It seemed like an impossible hurdle.

Unless.

Raven hated his hair. She’d made that clear on several occasions. 

But where was Raven?

“I need to piss,” he mumbled, for Bellamy’s benefit before stumbling away in the opposite direction of the crowd. If he knew Raven she’d still be off alone somewhere. Hard at work as always.

It was difficult for him to find any specific room in the camp. Every space felt the same and it was so easy for him to forget to pay attention to every step he took in order to keep track of exactly where he was. But he paid attention now. He went so far as to count his steps in his head, even.

  1. 2\. 3. 4. 5. Turn right. 6. 7. 8. 9. To the left. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. Should be on his right now.



“Raven!”

“Murphy? What are you doing here?”

So he’d been right. She was in her little nerdy paradise, with all her tech and mechanical shit. Of course he’d been right.

“Do you have scissors? I need scissors.” He was doing his best to keep his voice cool, calm, and collected. She’d proven herself to be unnaturally perceptive and he really couldn't afford to raise any alarm bells right now.

“Huh? Scissors? Why?”

“Clarke's gonna cut my hair, but she doesn’t have any scissors, so…do you?”

“Finally. God, I can’t wait to see you without that catastrophe on your head. Yeah, I have scissors somewhere around here…just hang on.”

Yes! He’d never been so proud of himself. He may have been shit at school, but he was proving now that he did have at least a couple working brain cells. He’d come up with a decent plan, and it was working.

“Wait, but why would she cut it now? Aren’t the grounders still here?”

Shit. Shit. No. Raven always had to go and prove that she was just that much smarter than him, didn’t she?

“Uh, no. Most of them have already left. I think there’s just a couple left and they’re off talking to Kane and Abby somewhere.”

“Hm. Quick visit, then. Ok, here you go. Be careful, though, don’t want you taking an eye out with them.” She laughed at her own shit joke for a moment before grabbing his hand and wrapping it around the handle of the scissors.

“Fucking asshole. Thanks,” he muttered, hurriedly turning tail and heading out of the room.

He squeezed the scissors tight in one hand and gently poked at their tips with his other hand. Thank God, they were high quality. They felt nice and sharp. Deadly and capable of doing a lot more than just cutting hair.

He quickly retraced his steps. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. To the right. 11. 12. 13. 14. Turn left. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. He could hear the noises of the gathering echoing around him again. Tense, yet cheerful discussions about the future. About Trikru and Skaikru learning from each other. Boatloads and boatloads of steaming hot bullshit.

“Bilaik oso don enthing dig au kom emo.” And there it was.

This was really fucking happening. He was really this close to finally making someone pay for all they’d stolen from him. Just a few steps. Follow that voice. He knew how to do that. He could usually follow a voice fairly well. He could do this.

“Emo ste kwelen.”

He hoped Bellamy didn’t spot him before he reached the grounder. He didn’t want him to call out his name or something idiotic. He couldn't let anyone ruin this for him. 

He reached his hand out and felt hard muscles beneath rough fabric. He moved the scissors back to gain momentum and then thrust them forward as quickly as he could. He aimed higher the next time, hoping to hit his neck. He needed this kill to be quick. Couldn’t give him a chance to fight back. He’d lose in a fight. That was obvious. But quick. Speed was his only hope. Another thrust. Ignore the screaming. Ignore everything and focus on the task at hand. He moved the scissors back again, felt liquid splash onto his face, tasted its metallic sting on his tongue, and moved to bring the blades back down.

And then his body short-circuited. Oh. He knew pain well, but this was a pain he’d never felt before. It coursed through him and turned his body stiff and inert. He fell to the ground quick and hit it with a jarring thud, shaking and shouting as the electricity began to fade, leaving him wrecked and exhausted.

“Hakom em stok thru, Nyko?”

Oh fuck. Fucking. Fuck.

Fuck.

That was the fucking voice! It was strong and unwavering. Definitely not wounded or bleeding out.

Not only had he gotten himself hit with a shock baton, he’d also stabbed the wrong fucking grounder! Could he have possibly fucked that up worse? He didn’t think so.

“Murphy!?” There was a hand on his back now and Bellamy’s voice above him. He didn’t have the strength to stand or the will to respond. He just wanted to lie on the ground and bask in his complete and utter failure until he died. “What were you thinking!?”

Great. A lecture. That was exactly what he needed right now. He was glad that Bellamy understood him so flawlessly.

“I think your aim was off, liwa flufgiva.”

Arrogant piece of! Murphy still wanted to kill that bastard. So he’d failed once. It’d still been a good attempt. He’d come close. Try and try again, right? He was no quitter.

He’d managed to keep hold of the scissors, so it was a simple matter really, to put them through the ankle of the man towering over him. He heard a sharp intake of breath, a hiss of pain, and a body hit the floor next to him. He rolled to the side and lifted the scissors up one more time. More blood spurted out onto his skin and he smiled. Jackpot.

“Murphy! Stop! Murphy!” Ah, poor Bellamy. He was so panic-stricken. He couldn't possibly understand how much this meant to Murphy. How good this felt.

And then suddenly, it didn’t feel so good anymore.

There was more blood coating him now. Blood from a new source. He’d been cut, sliced, whipped, burned, and now electrocuted, but never stabbed. Never had a blade burrowed deep into his arm and sent piercing shockwaves straight down to the core of his soul. He instantly dropped the scissors and screamed despite himself, all too aware of the new hole in his forearm.

“No! Oh my God! Murphy!” He was being lifted now, in strong arms. Encircled and held against the warmth of Bellamy’s body. He let his arm hang limply, let the blood drip and drop where it may.

The vibrations of being jostled about in the hold of a running boy set his nerves alight and sucked the air out of his sore, shocked body. “Jackson! Jackson! Please!”

Man, he was tired. And dizzy. He felt almost drunk. But he was so thirsty.

He felt Bellamy’s disappear out from underneath him, replaced by one of those uncomfortable medical cots that he’d become so accustomed to during the first few weeks he’d been in Camp Jaha. He wondered if now that he was lying down if it’d be okay to go to sleep? He thought that it would. And he _was_ so tired…So tired.

* * *

***

**You probably want translations of the Trigedasleng, but honestly I wrote this awhile ago and can't remember the exact translations. Also the grounder dialogue is laughably terrible, and I don't want to embarrass myself like that.**

**So, moving on. Thank you so much for your lovely comments: Socioskull, Elliot, dumbassbitch, Kaeden, and Illder! Still super appreciative of your kindness and feedback. Also, thanks for the kudos and thanks for reading!**

**-See ya**


	11. Compensation

“What do you mean by-"

“Blood-have blood.”

“Fuck-this _was_ justice.”

“Killed-innocent man.”

God. He felt like shit. He was more than used to feeling like shit, sure, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He still felt dizzy and the voices around him somehow felt simultaneously loud and distant. He couldn’t even begin to grasp what they were saying. His focus was only good enough to catch the odd word here and there. And he was too out of it to really care what Bellamy and Clarke were talking about, anyway. It couldn’t possibly be as important as the pounding in his head.

“Punishment-death.”

“Serious-after what they-"

“Peaceful-stabbed two men!”

“We’ve all-you killed 300 of them!”

Ugh. Fuck. They were screaming at each other now. As if his head didn’t already hurt enough. Insensitive bastards. He wished he had enough strength to tell them to shut the fuck up.

But he didn’t. 

“War! But _he_ jeopardized-Kane worked for!”

Well. Maybe what they were saying might be sort of important after all. And eavesdropping had always ended so well for him before. Not.

It was their fault, though. They should’ve learned by now not to have such heated conversations over his hospital beds. Seriously.

“Can you really blame him, Clarke?”

“Doesn’t matter. They want-or war.”

Ah, shit. His head was still so damn jumbled. This was pointless. He really couldn’t focus. He just wanted to go back to being unconscious. 

So he did.

***

* * *

“He told me he wanted them so you could give him a haircut!”

“And you believed him? You knew that the grounders were visiting the camp, so how could you have-"

“Don’t you dare pin this on me, Clarke!”

Well. At least he was feeling a bit better. His head no longer felt like it was floating about in zero-g. That was a plus.

“I’m sorry…You’re right. You couldn’t have known what he really wanted them for. I’m just…Raven, I don’t know what to do. They want to kill him!” Clarke was crying. It was easy to tell. He’d gotten fairly accustomed to having to discern someone’s emotions simply from the tone of their voice alone. She sounded shrill and shaky. Desperate. Strong, resolute Clarke was crying. Because the grounders wanted to kill him.

He’d really fucked up. Again.

“Well, obviously we can’t let that happen.” There was an undeniable sense of urgency to Raven’s voice, her words coming out fast and fervent. “If we could just…If we could explain what happened to their commander, she'd have to understand. I mean, their whole blood for blood thing? Isn’t that the basis of what he did? Stabbed the bastard that hurt him?”

“If he’d just stabbed Andoah, that’d be an easy sell, but that isn’t what they want to hold him accountable for. It's Nyko's people who want revenge.”

“Then they should just kill Andoah, because he’s the fucking monster who started this all, anyway.”

“Wait…I think you may be on to something. Kane seems to respect the commander, seems to think she's reasonable, so maybe…maybe we could convince her that Andoah is the one that should be punished.”

“All anyone would have to do is see Murphy and they’d understand why he tried to kill that dick.”

He tried not to be offended by that last comment. He knew full well that Raven was right, but he couldn't help but wish that she wasn't. He wished that he could heal just enough to stop being a walking advert for abuse and agony. Still, though, they were brilliant, and if they could make his wretched appearance work to his advantage just this once, he'd be eternally indebted to them.

“And if she doesn’t understand, then I guess we’ll have no choice but to fight,” Clarke whispered, her voice so quiet it was hardly audible, but yet so strong that her statement sounded like a manifesto.

He swore than and there that he'd never let it come to that. He didn't want anyone to fight over him, and he certainly didn't want to be the cause of a war. No, he’d come into possession of another pair of scissors and use them to stab himself before he'd let that happen. 

“I guess we won’t,” Raven echoed.

It was incredible to him how much they cared. The length that they were willing to go to in order to clean up this ridiculous mess he’d created struck him as incredible. He hadn’t had anyone put so much on the line for him since his father had stolen the meds. And God, that thought scared him. If any harm came to them because of these antics of theirs, because of what they were about to do for him, he'd never forgive himself.

***

* * *

“And suddenly, it was me that was hurting you. The whip was in my hand, but I couldn't control my body, so I brought it down on your back. And you started begging me to stop, but I couldn’t, and I just kept going…And then it changed so that we were sitting by that stream we went to on your birthday, and I kissed you, but you-"

“Bellamy?” Murphy had literally no idea what the other man was on about, but he figured that he'd better let him know he was awake before things got anymore awkward. Plus, He'd already gone above and beyond his quota for eavesdropping on his poor, unsuspecting visitors for the week, anyway. 

“Murphy? You’re awake? Finally.”

“Yeah. I’ve been drifting in and out for a couple of days.”

“So nice of you to let us know,” Bellamy mumbled, a hint faux annoyance coloring his tone, though it couldn't drown out the relief that was evident there, as well.

“Mm. You’re welcome.”

“Well, it’s good timing, at least…”

“Why’s that?”

“The grounder commander is being sent for and you’re going to have to meet with her. I mean, we are. Clarke and I will be with you. For moral support. But she…she’s going to decide what the punishment for your crime should be.”

No surprises there. But, of course, Bellamy didn't know that'd he'd heard all of Raven and Clarke's strategizing and knew perfectly well why the commander was coming. He was quite glad to hear that Bellamy would be accompanying him to his hearing, however.

“Okay,” he stated simply, his voice coming out more apathetic than he had intended it to.

“Okay?” Bellamy questioned, sounding very nearly flabbergasted by Murphy’s flippancy. “Murphy, I don’t want to stress you out, because I know you're still healing and you're clearly not in a good place right now mentally, but you need to realize what’s at stake here.”

“I do know what’s at stake. Blood must have blood. I know.”

“Fuck it, Murphy! I’m not in the mood for this. You know damn well that your life isn’t something you can just play around with without there being any consequences. You know damn well how fucking destroyed I’d be if you died, so I need you to take this seriously!” He’d never heard Bellamy like this. Never heard him quite so loud, quite so passionate and angry. It definitely shook him, and it almost scared him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, suddenly feeling like he was back in a cage waiting to be let out and beat down. He knew that Bellamy wouldn't hurt him, but the volume and venom was enough to take him back. Sometimes he even felt as though he'd never really left. “I will.”

“Good. This is important and you need to be prepared. We can't afford any slip-ups. And we certainly can't have you being a loose cannon.”

“I won’t be. I’m not that stupid.”

“I’m not so sure,” Bellamy whispered, his voice soft and quiet now, yet it managed to sting all the worse. “What were you thinking, Murphy? Really? How could you have thought that would go well?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” He wasn't even sure how to begin trying to explain all that he had felt in the moments leading up to what he'd done. Hell, he could hardly even remember those moments. It’d all happened so fast, and his body had felt as though it were moving on autopilot. “I just heard the voice of one of the men who…raped me, and I wanted him dead so badly, that I didn’t think.”

“Well…You should've just asked me to kill him. I wouldn't have made such a mess of things.”

“I don’t need you to do my dirty work.”

“Clearly you do, because look what happens when you try to do it yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you! You patronizing piece of shit!”

“I’m just saying, you need to start realizing your limitations! One of which being that you can’t go on a random stabbing spree!”

“My limitations? My whole fucking life would be limitations if I let it. But that wouldn’t even really be a life, anyway, would it?” God he wanted Bellamy to leave. All that love he felt towards him was cooling into something tepid and unappetizing. He’d thought that Bellamy understood him well, but he didn't, not at all. He just thought he was a foolish child who was throwing a tantrum and refusing to leave the adult affairs to the adults.

He just thought he was a cripple who couldn't accept that he was completely and utterly reliant upon others now. And maybe he was right on that one, but that didn’t mean Murphy didn’t want to rip the world apart from being spoken to in such a manner. It didn't mean he wasn't sick to death of everyone else always thinking they knew what was best for him and telling him how to behave. 

“But I _do_ want you to have a life, Murphy. That’s the whole damn point. If you keep pulling stunts like this, the future I want for us will disappear. There’s a life that I want to give you, so would you please just give me the chance to put it together?”

“What life?” he whispered, everything within him warming to a point where it all seemed quite a deal more palatable. He really never could seem to stay mad at Bellamy for long.

“I don’t really know…But listen, I love you, Murphy, so I’m begging you, please help us win the commander over. I just need you to value your life a fraction of how much I value it for just a couple of hours, okay?”

“I already told you that I would. I’ll be on my best behavior and all that shit.” He paused, taking a deep breath before he finally found the nerves to mutter, “And I love you, too…”

He first felt warm breath on his face, but it was quickly followed by warm lips on his.

***

* * *

“Ok. I’ve already let her know the situation, so you shouldn’t really have to do much talking.” Clarke was in business mode now. Her voice was no-nonsense and he could hear her footsteps next to him, fast and firm on the earth beneath them.

“Good.”

“Oh, but…Murphy…could you take out your prosthetics for me?”

“What? Why?” He immediately stopped walking and listened to the treads of his two companions quiet as they did the same. 

“I just think it’d be for the best. Grounders don't have prosthetics and I’m worried they'd just confuse her.”

“Ah. No, I get it. This is all about letting her see how fucked up I am, right? So, you want to give her a show.” He reached his hand up and tugged his right eyelid down and coaxed the acrylic into sliding out. He felt a small hand on his and let Clarke take the eye from him.

“Something like that,” she said dismissively as he repeated the process on the left prosthetic and handed that off to her, too.

He felt another hand wrap itself around his now. This one was larger and moist from sweat. It gave his a squeeze and Murphy returned the gesture, not at all sure who was comforting who at this point.

Bellamy had been wigging out all day, and honestly, his anxiety was making this much harder on Murphy. He felt that he would have been able to stay relatively calm about this if he didn't have Bellamy in his ear every five seconds trying to remind him how high the stakes were or some shit. 

He started walking again, allowing Clarke to lead Bellamy and Bellamy to lead him. It felt odd now to have his sockets empty again. He'd just finally gotten used to them being full of glass and everything. He also hoped that Bellamy wasn't too shocked by the sight of the familiar change, either. He hoped that the man hadn't forgotten what the boy he claimed to love really looked like without the veil and baubles.

“We’re here,” Clarke whispered suddenly. It’d been an unexpectedly brief trip and Murphy found himself wishing he'd had more time to mentally prepare. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be…” he mumbled, suddenly understanding why Bellamy had gone and gotten his knickers all bunched up over this. He hated to admit it, but this was literally do or die. And while he sometimes thought he'd be just fine with dying, Bellamy’s hand in his reminded him that now really wouldn’t be such a good time for that. So here he was, desperately trying to reschedule his own funeral. 

They stepped forward and he felt the air change, the crisp, light breeze vanishing to be replaced by something warmer and unwavering. They must be inside the commander’s tent now. This was it.

He heard the thud of heavy boots come close and his body instinctively tensed, something like panic doing it’s best to well up within him as he realized that he was once again at the mercy of a grounder. But no. This was different. This time he had Clarke and Bellamy; he’d be fine.

“John Murphy?”

An unfamiliar voice, yet one he could easily pinpoint. There was a strength about and a quality that refused to be questioned. It kind of reminded him of Clarke’s when she was on a power trip.

It was undoubtedly the commander who was speaking to him now.

“Yes?”

“Quite impressive that you managed to kill Nyko…though, I doubt you would've been so fortunate had he been expecting an attack.”

“It wasn’t fortune. I wasn’t trying to kill him.”

“So I’ve heard. You sought to kill Andoah, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the treatment you endured while you were his captive?”

“Yes.” He felt like he really needed to stop saying ‘yes' over and over again like a babbling toddler, but he didn't know what else to say. He figured that if he kept his answers as concise as possible, he’d have fewer opportunities to say the wrong thing. 

“Nyko's people demand justice. You killed one of their own. You killed their best healer and they rightfully demand your life…But Clarke tells me that Andoah's death would offer them truer retribution. She tells me that he is the one who began this chain of bloodletting and that spilling his blood is the only way to end it. So we are here now to determine if she is correct.”

Her voice and her steps seemed to be coming from every angle, one second in front, the next behind. She was circling him. Like a hunter toying with her prey. 

“First, I must see proof of all that Andoah has been accused of.”

“Proof? How can we give you proof?” Bellamy’s voice was deep and solid now. He could be good at putting on a front when he wanted to. He could bury his anxieties away with enough speed and dirt that they became entirely undetectable.

“John, would you please remove your clothing?”

Wait. Was she serious right now? He knew the grounders were primitive and all, but was his judge honestly trying to get him to strip down in the middle of his court case?

He couldn’t help but quickly shake his head and murmur an incredulous, “Fuck no,” that he immediately realized was exactly the sort of thing his patrons had advised him against doing.

But there was no way he was going to do as she'd asked. Not even Bellamy had seen him naked yet. Clarke had, but only because she'd needed to so that she could treat his wounds. And Raven had seen most of him when she’d tried to get him to do it with her on the dropship floor. But Bellamy hadn’t, because…well, he knew he was unattractive enough _with_ clothes on, he didn’t even want to begin to imagine how he looked without such a safety net.

And to get naked in front of a stranger. A grounder. God, the thought sent chills shooting up and down his spine. The grounders had only every stripped him of his shirt so that they could whip him. And they had stripped him of his pants whenever they wanted to…

“Commander, please, there isn't much to see. His wounds are healing and the evidence of what his captors did is faded now,” Clarke insisted, and for once he was absolutely fine with letting someone else speak for him. He was too stunned to find the words he would've needed, anyway.

“So, I am to take your word over that of my own people? Andoah insists that his people did only what was necessary in order to extract the information that they needed to win a war.”

“Did what was necessary? With all due respect, commander, do you truly believe that it was necessary for them to gouge out his eyes?”

“Sometimes drastic measures are necessary during times of war.”

He should’ve known that it would be like this. That they didn’t stand half a chance, because of course a grounder would only be able to sympathize with the savagery of her fellow grounders. It shouldn’t come as any great surprise that she was deeming them justified in all they’d done. This whole trial was a ridiculous farce. She’d had the verdict etched into her before he’d so much as walked into the tent. Coming here had been pointless.

“Drastic measures?” he whispered, his teeth grinding together around his words. “I told them all that they’d wanted to know! I told them everything, and even that didn't stop them! By the end…by the time they ripped out my fucking eyes they were doing it all just for fun! So no, none of it was necessary!” he fell silent before adding, “With all due respect, of course.”

He figured that she was going to kill him anyway, so he might as well start speaking his mind. Though, he was sure that Bellamy and Clarke would have given anything to be able to discreetly shut him up right about now.

There was then a prolonged moment of weighty silence, during which he braced himself for the coming onslaught. No doubt she'd rebuke him for his lack of respect and subsequently sentence him to a slow and painful death.

“I agree.”

Wait, what? That _was_ the commander’s voice, right? Was she trying to lull him into a false sense of safety or something? Seriously, what was her ploy?

“If nothing else, rape is illegal under my command. Punishable by death.”

God, Clarke had really told her everything, hadn’t she? He’d be annoyed if he weren't too busy holding his breath and pitifully hanging onto the commander’s every word. He hated to admit it, but Kane had been right. She was something else. Something different than any of the grounders he'd had the misfortune of meeting and he couldn't help but begin to hold out hope that maybe she was coming around to his side.

“Still...Andoah's crimes do not alter the fact that you, too, are guilty. You still have the blood of an innocent on your hands and there must be recompense.”

Well shit. There went his short-lived hopes.

“But given the circumstances, death would not be the appropriate punishment…”

Oh? Well he wasn't going to get his hopes back up, anyway. She was probably about to sentence him to lose an arm or something. And if that was the case…well, shit, he’d rather be floated.

“I will require a vow, John Murphy. You must swear that you will never again harm one of my people. If you do, your sentence will be worse than death.”

Worse than death? He almost laughed. He already knew what worse than death felt like. That was why he was here. Why he'd inadvertently killed a man. But a vow he could do. It’d be an easy promise to make. He really didn't plan on stabbing any grounders again any time soon. It hadn't been worth all the fuss it'd stirred up. And now, though he knew that Andoah was to die, still he felt no satisfaction. It didn't undo anything. It didn't change anything. And he certainly didn't feel any better.

“Oh, I certainly vow, commander,” he told her, smiling a bit despite himself. He was relieved, at least. And all too aware that she was letting him off easy. How pathetic must he look to have been able to garner a grounder’s pity? “Really not a threat to your people, anyway. If you couldn't tell.”

He sort of wished that he could see what she looked like. This great leader who sounded like she couldn't be much older than him. Plus, it wasn't often that people surprised him in a positive way, so he had to give her props for that. Not to mention for pardoning him and giving Andoah an early kick into hell. Really, she wasn’t half-bad. For a grounder, obviously. 

“But…um, thanks,” he reluctantly mumbled, deciding that he'd do well to show her a hint of respect and a dash of gratitude. She’d sorta earned it and all.

“Yes, well…you have suffered enough, John Murphy.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

***

* * *

**Yes. Yes, there will definitely be hints of Clexa in the future. And happy lesbian visibility day, peeps.**

**Thanks for the kudos everyone and thank you so much blueparacosm, Kaeden, and hopskipaway for the lovely comments!!! Also, can't believe you took the time to leave all those comments, hopskipaway, geez, I was so happy, hahaha.**

**As always, thanks for reading, too!**

**-Peace out**


	12. Reconciliation

“I thought for sure she’d sentence you to death just because of how much of an idiot you were that entire time.”

“What are you talking about? I was on my best behavior just like I told you’d I’d be.”

“You know, it doesn’t speak very highly of you that I believe that that _was_ you on your best behavior.”

Murphy grinned in what he hoped was Bellamy’s general direction and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, looks like you'll have to put up with me for a little while longer.”

“What the hell do you mean, a little while?”

He let loose an obnoxiously loud laugh, feeling much more carefree than he had when they'd left for the commander's tent. Instead of answering Bellamy, he simply called out, “Hey, Clarke, can I have my eyes back?”

“I should really sterilize them first,” she told him, her tone was annoyingly clinical and incongruous with his unusually good mood.

“Oh come on, I don’t want to walk back into camp without them and give all the kiddies nightmares.”

“Fine.” He felt her grab one of his hands and stuff the items in question into it. He smiled at whatever was currently in front of him and nodded his thanks before popping them into their rightful sockets.

They walked in silence for the briefest of moments before Clarke hesitantly asked, “So. What did you guys think of the commander?”

Murphy couldn't help but start laughing again as he eagerly answered her with, “She’s you if you were an angry grounder.”

He heard Bellamy burst out laughing, too, and was glad that his disadvantaged observation hadn't been a baseless one.

“She wasn’t angry. She was as reasonable as Kane told me she would be. She spared your life.”

“For which I am momentarily grateful.”

“I just mean, I think we might have a shot at real peace, after all.”

“As long as Murphy doesn't accidentally fuck it up again.”

“I made a vow, Bellamy! I’m a man of my word.”

“I’m sure.”

Despite that he was still fundamentally against peace with the grounders, it _was_ nice to hear the hope in Clarke’s voice. He’d really never heard her sounding so positive, and after inadvertently causing her to get her heart broken, it was just a relief to know that she was doing alright. That she was already back to her hyper-political, charge-taking self. And, honestly, he knew that peace would do them all good right now.

“Hey!” Raven's voice was accompanied by the sound of running. Then there were soft, lean arms around his body, and the gentle feeling of a burst of breath on his ear. “You’re alright! What happened?” She released him from her hold so suddenly that he almost lost his balance.

“She scheduled my death for a week from now.”

“Murphy! That’s not remotely funny!” Bellamy shouted. He shrugged, rather amused by himself regardless of whether anyone else was. 

“He was pardoned, Raven,” Clarke told her quietly, that note of something like happiness still shining through in her tone.

“Oh, fuck you, you gave me a heart attack, you absolute asshole!” Raven shouted, but he could hear the undeniable sound of shaky laughter peeking through her sharp words. “But good. Now we don’t have to go to war over you.”

“As if I would've let you.”

“As if you would've been able to stop us,” Bellamy chimed in, and he felt a distinctively thicker arm wrap itself around his waist now, pulling him close to a body that was much larger than his own. He leaned back against Bellamy, wanting to kiss him, but not willing to do so in front of Clarke yet.

“Clarke! What happened?” Ah, and that would be Abby. The transitory Chancellor needing to know the state of affairs. Where things stood with the grounders and whether she would have to toss her stupid, troublemaking patient out to be devoured by the wolves.

“It went well, mom, the commander just made…” Clarke’s voice got quieter and harder to discern with every word, till eventually Murphy couldn't hear her anymore and realized that she'd walked off to speak privately with her mother.

“I’d better be off, too, Sinclair needs me. But uh, glad you’re alive, Murphy. And don’t you dare ever do anything that reckless again.”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to.”

So it was just him and Bellamy now, right?

He wondered what he should say. Wondered why he suddenly felt uncomfortable. He hadn’t had a moment alone with Bellamy since he'd been released from medbay, so they hadn't really discussed, well, all the shit he knew they’d have to discuss sooner or later. Hell, they hadn’t really had a decent conversation since his birthday and he felt like he’d aged forty years since then. It almost felt harder to talk to him now that they were closer. Now that Bellamy wasn’t just some unattainable idol he could spend his days uselessly pining over.

Now that he actually had Bellamy, he simply wasn't quite sure what to do with him. 

Especially since he’d fucked up so royally so soon after they’d gotten together. He probably should’ve considered the fragile infancy of his relationship before he’d gone and started shanking people. Might’ve been a good idea.

He wondered what Bellamy thought of him now. If he was vaguely frightened of the violent potential Murphy had reawakened within himself. He was almost afraid of himself, so Bellamy must be…

But he had his arm around him, and he’d went through the effort of accompanying him to the commander's tent. He’d given a shit whether he lived or died, too, so he obviously still cared. For some inexplicable reason. Were his feelings wavering, though? They had to be.

“Bell…I’m sorry,” he whispered, hating the sound of his own voice and how weak it suddenly was. Perhaps that’s why he’d done it. When he’d felt the blood pouring onto his shirt and making it stick to his skin, and felt the blade coming into contact with tissues and tendons and penetrating deep, there hadn’t been a hint of weakness in him then. He’d felt powerful, and it’d felt good.

Oh, god. He was sick. He was sick and wrong and just a half step away from being just like Andoah. Hurting people for the way it made him feel.

He’d always hated himself quite a bit, but never this much.

“About what?” Bellamy had always had some sort of intrinsic goodness within him. Even at his worst you could tell that he was trying his best. He’d tried to kill Murphy, sure, but he’d gotten no joy out of it. There’d been reluctance in the place of pleasure. He hadn’t meant to have the sort of power that obligated him to kick crates out from beneath teenage boys and watch them choke and snap.

Murphy wondered if that sick darkness in his soul was contagious, though. If soon he'd have tainted this lovely man to the point where he too gained pleasure from pain. To the point where he too wanted to take the world down with him every time he stumbled.

“For causing all this drama, almost starting a war, being a pain in your ass, all of it.”

“Good. You should be sorry, Murphy. I thought I was going to have to watch you die….The last few days have been unbearable.”

He certainly didn’t enjoy causing Bellamy pain, though. He just felt awful and tired now that the excitement over being pardoned had begun to wear off. His arm hurt from recently having a sword wedged in it, too. Abby had told him that he was lucky he could even still use it. He’d wanted to tell her that if he hadn't been able to, he would’ve found another pair of scissors and used them to slit his throat, but instead he’d simply nodded. It was bandaged all neat and nice in a way that made him aware of how much his other injuries had healed. He only had just the one bandage on his body, and that felt strange to him. Everything else was just soreness and scars.

“I know, I was so fucking stupid to have...I’m sorry.” He didn’t want to keep apologizing like a parrot with a poor vocabulary, but he wasn’t sure what else he could possibly say. No words would suffice. He couldn’t use his voice box to rewind time, so it all felt rather pointless.

“Okay, alright. You don’t need to apologize anymore, just please be more careful. I don't want to lose you again.” He hugged him close and Murphy could feel Bellamy’s breath on the top of his head, rustling through his hair. It was almost enough to make him forget what he was upset about and go straight back to that odd, repressive happiness he’d felt upon leaving the commander. Like because she’d pardoned him and Bellamy still wanted him, what he’d done no longer mattered. He was safe in the arms of the man he loved now and the fact that he’d killed a man and had a swell time doing so was irrelevant. 

After all, he’d thought that he was killing the man who’d raped and blinded him. That’d be fun for anyone, right? Or at least satisfying, what with revenge being sweet and cold and all.

So it was fine. He was fine.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, grabbing the hand that Bellamy was resting against his waist and holding it in his own. “Don’t worry.”

He meant it. He would be careful, he had to be, because he didn't want to cause Bellamy any more anxiety, and he didn't want to disrupt the blessed peace they were finally being offered. Even if he wasn’t quite sure how to exist in a peaceful world. How to take a breath knowing that it wouldn't be his last. But he wanted to be the sort of person who didn’t need something to fight for. Who could learn to take living for granted and not approach contentedness with such a hearty helping of suspicion.

“Can we go inside now?” He asked suddenly, his jacket beginning to feel inadequate both as a source of warmth and as a mode of camouflage. Not knowing how many eyes were on them bothered him immensely. He wished that he could feel confident enough to flaunt off his smoking hot boyfriend, but he knew that anyone who saw him in Bellamy’s arms like this would just wonder if they were both blind. If Bellamy was vision-impaired and unaware that the boy he was dating was very ugly indeed.

Clarke and Bellamy would've looked so good together. Mouth-wateringly gorgeous. Him and Bellamy probably just looked like a goblin had learned to use mind control. Or some money had changed hands. Either way.

He felt Bellamy’s head move up and down against his and he repositioned their hands so that he could lead him forward as he took his first step. Murphy stuck close to him as they picked their way through the camp. The air ceased to be brisk as they stepped inside, and he ceased to care so much about how he looked once they were back in their room. He already knew that Bellamy certainly didn’t care. Oddly.

He sat down on his bunk and felt the mattress retreat as Bellamy sat down next to him.

They coexisted in a rather uncomfortable silence until Bellamy finally asked, “Are you alright?” and Murphy started wondering how he looked again. What expression it was that he was wearing now that was cause for concern.

“I’m fine,” he said noncommittally, not at all in the mood to be psychoanalyzed.

“Murphy, come on, I feel like you were more willing to open up to me before we...before your birthday, and that’s not the way it should be.”

The way it should be was almost a laughable concept at this point in regards to anything in his life. Was anything the way it should be? 

“I'm just tired.”

“Stop. Can you please just actually talk to me? Let me know what you’re thinking?”

He sighed and shook his head, feeling his hair move back and forth in front of his face, making his nose itch. “I’m not thinking anything. Nothing that matters.”

“Your thoughts always matter to me.”

That almost got a smile out of him, almost. But he was in a stubbornly bad mood now. The sort that he refused to let any sparks of happiness ruin for him.

“Fine,” he stated apathetically, trying to summon the restraint needed to not lash out at the man he loved for caring about him. “I was thinking…about how good looking you are.”

Bellamy laughed in response and he felt the bed shift as he scooted closer and snaked his arm back around his waist. Grabbed his hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And what? You’re upset you don't get to bask in my beauty? “

“Well, that too. But no. Fuck, Bellamy, I mean, how can you even stand to touch me?” It wasn't just that he loathed his defective, gnarled body, which he certainly did, but his dissatisfaction with his soul was on the rise, as well. What with the murky morals he’d found residing there and all. He felt like Bellamy should be able to see all of this. Like surely the taint had manifested itself on his skin by now. But really, a whole lot of his self-hatred was shallow and based upon his uncertainty about the state of his scars, too. Sure Raven had told him that there was _something_ about him, but whatever that something was, it still didn't feel adequate. Not with Bellamy’s carefully crafted muscles against him, at least.

“What? What kind of a question even is that? I like touching you. I...I’m attracted to you…”

It was his turn to laugh now, the sound sardonic and sad. Bellamy was adorable and flustered and he believed him, even as he wondered what he was smoking. Bellamy really needed to raise his standards. Maybe he was just attracted to a working set of lungs and a busy heart. “I don’t see how. But never mind. You’re right, it was a weird thing to ask. Sorry.” He had to drop the subject and move on. He couldn't risk coming off as whiny. Or needy. At least, not any needier than his lack of sight already made him. He relied on Bellamy for a lot of things now, and he didn't want to add ‘reassures me when I’m being an insecure little bitch' to that ever growing list.

“No, it’s fine. Murphy…I just…I think you think you look a lot worse than you do. I mean-"

“Bellamy, thanks, but I really don't want to talk anymore.” He should feel bad about cutting his boyfriend off and essentially telling him to shut-up. But he realized then that if Bellamy started complimenting him all he'd be able to hear was lies, and he didn't want that.

“Ok. I won't make you talk anymore, then.”

Bellamy’s breath was hot against his cheek in a way that demanded attention. He turned his head ever-so-slightly and was met by Bellamy’s lips which crashed against his and made his teeth ache. They’d kissed plenty, sure, but most had been quick, in-passing things. Not like by the stream. Not with that same urgent passion of the first. But he could feel it here now, rising up again. That hunger Bellamy had for him that truly made him feel, briefly, like maybe he was attractive after all. And it was nice to be doing this sober, too. To be wholly aware of it all and to know that nothing was clouding Bellamy’s judgment. 

Both of Bellamy’s hands were on his waist now, holding him steady as they leaned against each other. The kiss deepened to an intoxicating degree and he felt Bellamy’s hands squeeze his body before slowly sliding downwards.

He didn’t want this to be like it had with Raven. He didn’t want to turn into a jittery groveling mess, so he stopped it quick. He pulled his lips away from Bellamy’s and squirmed out of his hold, scooting back on the bed. “Bell…” he whispered, his heart thudding hard from a heady cocktail of lust and fear. “I’m not…”

“I wasn’t trying to…I know, Murphy.” Bellamy’s hand was on his shoulder now, his grip loose like he thought Murphy was fragile. Like he was scared to touch him now. And maybe he should be. After all, Murphy was still scared to be touched, too. He hated the way his body grew tense in Bellamy’s hands. The way it still couldn't distinguish between a welcomed touch and torture. “I know you aren’t ready. And that's fine, Murphy, I never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don't,” Murphy whispered quickly, because this certainly wasn't Bellamy's fault and he didn't want him stupidly blaming himself for it or something. “And I’m...sorry that I’m not ready yet.”

Bellamy’s grip on his shoulder grew firmer and he felt a hand on his cheek, a thumb rubbing gentle circles into his skin. “You don't need to apologize. I understand. I’ll wait as long as it takes. You're easily worth it.”

Bellamy really knew how to strip away his bad moods and leave him at risk of smiling. It wasn't fair. “Thanks,” he mumbled, wishing more than ever that he _was_ ready. He loved Bellamy and he wanted to be with him, but he didn't want to risk making a fool of himself, either. Or risk ruining their first time together. So he's was glad that Bellamy understood. That he seemed to like him enough that such things didn't matter. 

“Of course…” Bellamy’s voice was soft and a higher pitch than it usually was. He sounded nervous, almost flustered, and Murphy couldn’t help but grin. “You don't need to thank me.”

Murphy’s expression faltered and he shrugged his shoulders, lifting the hand that Bellamy was still resting on him. “But…You’ve had to put up with a lot of shit because of me, so I think I should.”

“Murphy, don’t worry about it. I’d put up with any amount of shit for you.”

Murphy hoped he wouldn't have to put up with any more, though. He hoped that all the drama was finally over. That the peace would hold and that he could manage to find some small sliver of peace within himself, too. If only for Bellamy’s sake.

***

* * *

He’d been asleep. He’d been in the woods with Bellamy in his dreams. He hadn’t known where they were headed, but he knew that it was somewhere good. Somewhere he’d wanted to go. And they’d been holding hands. Not because he needed Bellamy to guide him, he could see in this dream, so no, they were holding hands simply because they were in love.

And then their bedroom door had slammed open and he'd woke quick with a heart beating fast from panic. And a hand had wrapped around the loose material of his shirt, tugging it to force him into a sitting position.

He hit his head on the bottom of the bunk above him, but couldn’t feel the pain through his fear. It was like he was in a cage again, being dragged out and into the throngs of hell by someone he couldn't see. He wouldn't be at all surprised if he felt a whip hit his back right about now.

“Oh!? What are you doing?”

Bellamy! Thank God, yes. Bellamy was in here with him and he'd put a stop to this. Whatever the hell _this_ was.

“Bell? Why are you his roommate?”

Um. Ok. That was weird. How many grounders knew Bellamy’s name? And how many called him Bell for that matter? And why were they concerned with their living situation at a time like this? 

“Oh, seriously, what’s going on?”

Wait. Not “oh,” it was “O.” Octavia. He’d thought he recognized the voice.

Now the only question was, why the fuck had Bellamy's little sister broken into their room in the middle of the night and started attacking him?

He’d very much like an answer to that one, thanks. 

“You know what he did, don't you?” Octavia's voice was terse and coiled, like she was a breath away from screaming her lungs out at them. “Fucking bastard. You know, after Jasper got attacked he tried to murder him, and yet, ever since _he_ got hurt, he's expected us to feel sorry for him, to forget everything he did before, and to forgive everything he does now, but I’m done! I’m done letting him get away with shit just because he's blind!”

And then a fist hit his cheek and this time he could feel the pain. This time his head was reeling just as much as his heart. The blow was hard; she hit the bone beneath where his eyes should have been and he felt the fragile skin there split. The feeling was familiar. Like the return of an old friend. One he'd never really liked and had hoped to never see again. 

“Octavia!” Bellamy screamed, sounding almost hysterical. Sounding just as shocked and confused as Murphy felt. And honestly, he was glad to find that he wasn't the only one who was utterly lost. 

He felt the fingers twisted up within the fabric of his shirt disappear and scooted back on the bed once he was free of it. His back touched the wall and he clung to it like it was the only thing that could save him from his boyfriend's rampaging sister.

“What, Bellamy? Why are you always defending him? He's a psychopath! Can't you see that? You were there, weren't you!?”

“Where!? I was _there_ where, Octavia?”

“When he killed Nyko! You saw him do it, didn’t you?”

That’s what this was about? He would've laughed if his face didn't hurt so damn bad and if Octavia’s accusations hadn’t made it so that he was vaguely on the verge of tears.

The commander had pardoned him, but apparently Octavia hadn't. Who knew she'd even needed to? 

“Yes…” Bellamy’s voice was softer now, he didn’t know what to say, and Murphy could hear the trepidation in his voice. He clearly didn't want to say the wrong thing, but wasn't sure what the right thing was, either. “But it was an accident.”

“So I’ve heard. But ask yourself this, Bellamy, how could a blind person possibly think that they would stab the right man? He knew the chance he was taking! He knew that it was more likely that he’d stab someone innocent than it was that he’d hit his mark, but he went for it anyway, because he doesn't care about anyone but himself! He knew that he might kill the wrong grounder, but that didn’t matter to him!”

“O, calm down, hey, please just take a breath.”

“No, let go of me! I don’t need to calm down!” Nonetheless, Murphy was certain that he heard her take a rather deep, if somewhat shaky breath, and the next words she spoke were quieter. More even-pitched, too. “I know that the commander isn’t punishing him, but I think that we should.”

“What? You think we should kill Murphy!?” Bellamy’s voice was louder now, though. Incredulous in a way that made him feel just the slightest bit safer. Like maybe his sister wouldn't be able to turn Bellamy against him. Like maybe this would be over soon and he could go back to sleep.

“No, of course not. But…he’s dangerous to have around. He’s a bomb that could go off again at any moment. Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right!”

“What’s he gonna do, huh? He can’t see! He’s not a threat to anyone!”

Ok, wow. That felt good. He was real glad that Bellamy thought he was completely useless and incapable. Real, real glad.

“Apparently he is! Where there’s a will there’s a way. I’m surprised he hasn't slit your throat while you're sleeping yet.”

God, had she always been this melodramatic? He couldn't remember. He'd never paid that much attention to her. Always just thought of her as Bellamy’s slightly unhinged sister who’d spent too much of her life beneath the floor to know how to survive above it. Yet she was surviving just fine. Better than he was, at least. Although maybe she had her grounder boy toy to thank for that. 

Bellamy actually laughed. The sound was cold and humorless, yet there was the slightest hint of amusement in it that Murphy was sure he understood. The thought of him ever hurting Bellamy truly was laughable. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Even inadvertently. Hell, he felt bad enough when he marginally offended Bellamy.

“He would never do that. Listen, you've been gone for a pretty long time, and you aren't up to date on what's been happening here, I get that, but Murphy’s only done one thing wrong, and he was pardoned for it, so please just lay off him.”

“Nyko saved my life. He was one of Lincoln’s closest friends, and Murphy senselessly murdered him. One thing wrong is enough.”

Shit. Sometimes…sometimes it was hard for him to comprehend that the man he’d killed had been a real person. That he’d had a life, friends, family.

Murphy thought that might mean he really was a psychopath. That because he hadn’t seen the man and because the man had been a grounder, it’d been so easy to pretend that he wasn’t a person. He’d stabbed some anonymous body and hadn’t wanted to know more than that. Hadn’t wanted to think about the very real consequences of what he’d done. That a good man was dead because of him.

And then there was that dark part of him that had enjoyed it. That had thought he was stabbing Andoah and had felt like a god casting down divine justice from the heavens.

Not a weak, blind boy driving a pair of scissors into an unsuspecting healer and pointlessly stopping his heart.

Never that.

But really, who could blame Octavia for hating him? He was sure that he still hated himself more than she ever could.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, finally finding his voice though he dared not scoot away from the wall. He was too much of a coward to come out from beneath the bunk. To blindly face Octavia. “You’re right. I didn’t care. Not then. I was too consumed by rage to care, then, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kill him!”

“He’s still dead either way! Whether you meant to or not doesn't matter! You’ve always been on the verge of killing someone, Jasper, Charlotte, Nyko…You don’t value anyone’s life and I don’t understand why everyone keeps valuing yours.”

Well, at least she was finally speaking directly to him instead of taking about him as though he weren't in the room. That counted as progress, right?

But what could he say to that?

That he’d thought Jasper was going to die anyway and the sound of his suffering had bothered him? That only after he’d felt such unbearable pain himself had he realized what a dick he’d been?

And that only now, after killing someone himself could he empathize with Charlotte. Sure she'd killed an innocent on purpose, but their reasoning had been the same. Both of them trying to slay their demons? And maybe, just maybe he shouldn't have rallied for the death of a twelve year-old girl?

“I know…I was wrong. On all accounts. And I made a vow to the commander to never harm another grounder, and I swear to you that I _am_ going to keep it. And not just because she'll kill me if I don’t, but because…I get it now. After meeting her, especially. You were right. There _are_ good grounders. If I’d known that, if the only one’s I’d met hadn’t tortured and raped me, I never would have taken the chance that I did, and I never would have killed Nyko!”

Oh fuck. Shit. Shit. He was crying again. Dammit! He hated this. Why was he crying? It was all hard to breathe and his nose was all stuffed up and his tears stung on his cracked cheek and he wanted it to stop, but he was crying. Sobbing, almost.

Because grounders truly were people. As capable of good and evil as the rest of them. Some of them were monsters, yes, but some of them were just people. Doing their best. Trying to survive.

And he’d killed one. And the sister of his boyfriend was never going to forgive him, and maybe she was right not too, because maybe he was just a monster. He’d been trying so hard to ignore it, but he’d been a bastard since his father had died, and an unbelievable piece of shit since his mother’s passing.

If hell existed, he would be going there, and if it didn’t, well then being here, on this earth, blind and bruised? It was close enough.

The room was silent for a painfully long time, and he wondered whether Bellamy and Octavia were nervously eyeing each other or trying to get a peek at him.

“Do you mean it? You understand that there _are_ good grounders? You regret what you did?” There was no emotion in Octavia’s voice. It was level and calculating and he couldn't help but feel unnerved by it.

“Yes, I mean it. I’ve regretted it since it happened. It was so fucking stupid and I never should’ve tried it. I’m sorry to…to Lincoln, too.”

“You think you have the guts to say that to his face?”

Well shit. He could talk big, sure, but did she really have to go and ask him to walk the walk and all? To go confront an angry grounder warrior whose friend he’d just murdered? That really didn’t sound like a good time. 

“Um…can’t promise that I’d know where his face is, but…sure?”

“Good. You beg for Lincoln’s forgiveness and I’ll let you be. I won’t ever even mention what you did again.”

He had to admit, that sounded like a pretty sweet deal, though. It’d be lovely if she could please not remind him of his accidental stabbing anymore. Not call him a psychopath anymore, or call for his death, or tell Bellamy he was going to murder him in his sleep. The cessation of all of that had to be worth one little conversation with a grounder man, right?

Even if grounder men seemed to him to be an entirely different arena than grounder women. Because sure talking to the commander had been nice and breezy, but only because nothing about her had reminded him of being held down and assaulted. But with Lincoln, who knew how his body would respond? What sort of fight or flight mechanisms might be triggered?

Still, though, did he even have a choice in the matter? If he refused now, she’d certainly accuse his remorse of being disingenuous and go back to telling the love of his life what a worthless scumbag he was. And he couldn't have that. Couldn’t have Bellamy wondering if he could really stand to date someone his sister so passionately disapproved of. Because Octavia would always be his number one no matter what, Murphy had always known that, so he hated being on her bad side. 

“Okay. Where is he?” Yep. His voice was shaking like a leaf in a fucking hurricane. But at least he’d managed to stop crying. For the moment, anyway.

“I’ll go get him.”

The door opened then shut. He scooted forward on the mattress, taking a deep breath and grieving the absence of wall behind him as he moved up to the edge. The mattress shifted more once he was settled and then he felt a hand gently clap down on his back. Bellamy was sitting next to him now. He could immediately breathe easier.

“Sorry, she can be a little intense,” Bellamy whispered, his voice airy, joking.

“Just a bit,” he muttered back, shaking his head in something like disbelief. He was still drowsy. Still wishing for more sleep, for anything but this absolute mess of an early morning.

“For the record, I don't think you’re a psychopath, and I know that you care about others, Murphy. She’s just grieving and upset and she doesn't know you. Not like I do, so don’t listen to her. Listen to me…You messed up, but we all have. Plenty of times. You’re a good person. As good as any of us.”

He wasn’t sure that he believed him, and he wanted to express his overwhelming dubiousness, but the door swung open loud and hard again, and the words died in his throat.

“Good to see you again, Lincoln…” Bellamy was clearly nervous and there was a hesitancy to his words that made Murphy wonder if he was being genuine.

“You too. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.” An unfamiliar voice now. Smooth, deep, and so masculine it practically sent shivers down his spine. He knew he’d be freaking out right about now if Bellamy weren't sitting next to him. It made him feel like a fool to need his boyfriend’s protection, and yet, he was definitely glad to have it. “So this is him, then?”

Was he being pointed at right now? They were certainly talking about him. All their eyes were probably on him. It took a lot for Murphy to manage to keep from squirming beneath their unseen gazes.

“Yes. This is him. Lincoln, Murphy. Murphy, Lincoln.” Octavia sounded tired now, like she'd expended all of her energy on her previous tirades and was content to let Lincoln do as he wished now. Which wasn't exactly a comforting thought for Murphy.

“I can’t believe _you_ managed to kill Nyko.” The grounder’s voice was heavy and blunt as a weapon. Yet there was something gentle in it, too. And a distinguishable note of sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Murphy whispered, almost afraid that he was saying the word so much that it would lose all meaning soon. He tried to say it with feeling, though, tried to make it clear that he was, in fact, sorry. Very sorry.

“So am I.”

Shit. That was the sort of thing people said before plunging a knife into your chest, wasn't it? How would he know if he was about to get skewered? This hardly seemed fair. But then again, Nyko hadn’t seen the blade coming, either. 

“Sorry for what?” he managed to ask, even as he braced himself for the coming onslaught. 

“For what they did to you. They were Trikru. _My_ people. And I wanted to hate you for killing Nyko, but I can't.”

Fuck, he wanted to cry again. This was unbelievable. He was even more understanding than the commander, and here hadn't thought that was possible! No wonder Octavia was dating him. If Murphy wasn't dating Bellamy, he might've developed a crush on the guy himself.

“Seriously? You’re just going to let him off the hook?” Octavia’s vitality was back now, her impassioned fury blazing on her tongue again. 

“You didn't tell me it was this bad, Octavia.”

Ah. And now he felt just dandy about his appearance again. Apparently even with his prosthetics in, he still looked like enough of a wreck to inspire pity within the best friend of the man he'd killed. How nice. 

“Lincoln, you were tortured, too. You didn't kill anyone because of it.”

“It’s not the same, Octavia, you know that. My torture was nothing compared to his. And, I _did_ stab Finn. I almost killed one of your friends. So, really what right do I have to hold a grudge?”

God. So there really were grounders like this, too, huh? Grounder men who didn't want to kill and rape everything they came in contact with? Grounder men who were kind and wise? And if the man he’d killed was Lincoln’s friend, then he’d probably been the same way. Good and gentle. And totally unworthy of being stabbed.

“I…I just thought that…” Octavia sighed, sounding more drained than ever now. “Okay, fine. If Lincoln forgives you, then I guess, so do I, Murphy.”

He wondered if now would be a good time to tell her that he was dating her brother. But nah, of course he'd leave that up to Bellamy. It was totally his job.

“Thanks,” he told her. Them. Everyone in the room, really. Some sort of gratitude was probably owed to each of them, he figured. 

“Now...Well, we rode all day to get here, so…”

“You’re tired. I get it. Here, there’s an empty room down the hall. I reserved it for you, so I’m glad you’ll actually be using it now.” The mattress sprung up as Bellamy vacated it. The door creaked open, footsteps followed and the door closed again.

Murphy flopped back on his bed, cheek stinging and face still moist with tears.

What a morning.

Fuck it, he was going back to sleep.

***

* * *

**Oops, this one was much longer than I had meant for it to be.**

**As per usual, thank you so, so much for the comments: Kaeden, sapphictomaz, and the100murphy. Your super nice comments are making this boring summer a lot better for me, honestly. My heart is warmed, hahaha. Also, thanks for the kudos, bookmarks, and thank you all for reading!**

**-Til next week!**


	13. Confession

“Admit it, Clarke. You’re bored here. You may want peace, but you still want politics.”

“I’m not bored, Raven. I just want to go with my mother to Polis to make sure that the summit goes well. That’s all.”

Murphy tapped his fingers against the top of the table, listening to the metallic ping intermingle with the many sounds occupying the hangar bay. He wondered if Octavia was awake yet. What Bellamy and her had talked about this morning. Whether she knew about their relationship. Whether she wanted to kill him.

“Well. You _could_ use a vacation.”

“It definitely won’t be a vacation, Bellamy.”

“Ok, hold on, can we please address the elephant in the room. Murphy, what the hell happened to your face?”

He scoffed, stilling his hands, and turning his head so that he was facing Raven’s general direction. “Bellamy said I had a black eye, but I told him that wasn’t possible because…”

“Octavia came back.” Rude. How dare Bellamy cut him off? He was hilarious. It was his only talent and he had ruined it.

“So that she could punch Murphy in the face?” And now Raven sounded amused about him getting beat up. He really needed some new friends.

“Basically, yes. Nyko was Lincoln’s friend.”

“Oh shit. So…does Lincoln want to kill him, then?”

“Love when you guys talk about me like I’m not right here. Always makes me feel warm inside.”

“Sorry, Murphy. I can never get a straight answer from you about anything, though.”

“Why, Raven, I never knew you were a homophobe. I can’t help it if my answers aren’t straight.”

“Exactly my point. You’re an idiot. Now seriously, do we need to worry about Lincoln trying to kill you?”

“No. Octavia has surprisingly good taste in men.”

Raven laughed and Murphy felt validated again. She could only pretend she didn't think he was funny for so long. He always got her to cave in the end, though.

“He forgave you?” Clarke asked, a hint of doubt in her voice. Like she didn't believe anyone could forgive him or something. Despite that they’d tag-teamed the commander into doing so.

“He did. Said he couldn't hate me because I’m just too damn loveable.”

“ _Right_. I’m sure those were his exact words.”

“They definitely weren’t. He said he felt bad about what Trikru did to him.” Bellamy was clearly in a humorless mood. All work and no play, kind of Jacky boy dullness. Murphy figured he was worried about Octavia or some shit, because honestly, whenever Octavia was around, he seemed to be in a perpetual state of sister-induced anxiety.

“Damn. Given that he stabbed Finn and refused to give him the antidote to the poison, that’s surprising. Suddenly someone has a conscious.”

“He always has,” Clarke whispered disapprovingly. “But he didn't know if he could trust us back then. He’s wanted peace between Skaikru and Trikru for a long time now, though. So, he doesn't want to cause any drama by seeking vengeance.”

Murphy silently shook his head, feeling distinctly annoyed. He knew Lincoln hadn't forgiven him just for the sake of peace between the former citizens of the ark and the grounders, and he resented Clarke stating that he had.

“And Murphy, you should've woken me up so I could take care of that cheek. Octavia opened up some old cuts and they might get infected.”

He shrugged noncommittally, thinking that’d be a great way to die. Accidentally killed by Octavia. Some fabulous karma would be at play there. And to die in such a stupid way after everything he’d been through! Ah man, yeah. That was honestly exactly how he wanted to go out.

“So…do we have to worry about _Octavia_ trying to kill you, then?” Raven interjected, her voice more pleasing to his ears than Clarke’s was at this particular moment. 

“She’s not going to lay another hand on him,” Bellamy answered, his words coming out quick, before Murphy had had the chance to open his mouth.

“Why? Did you tell her that he’s your…”

“No. She just said that she wouldn't. She's forgiven him now, too.”

So…Bellamy hadn’t told her they were dating after all. He didn’t want his little sister criticizing him for his atrociously bad taste in men. That was perfectly understandable. Didn’t mean Murphy wasn't a bit hurt that his boyfriend was ashamed of him, though. 

“Well good. Really suck if you went through all that work to get the commander to pardon him only for Octavia to do the deed.”

“I wouldn't have let her.”

“Sure you could stop her, Bellamy? She’s being trained by Lincoln and you’re using having a blind boyfriend as an excuse to let yourself go.”

Murphy may or may not have burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Raven could be extremely hilarious, too. Her wit and bite made him rather jealous at times, actually.

“That's entirely untrue! I work out every day!”

Bellamy’s protests only made them laugh more, until eventually even a soft chuckle could be heard from Clarke's direction.

“Don’t worry, Bellamy, I know you’re fit,” Murphy told him, grinning. He winked despite that his prosthetics made the gesture feel a bit odd.

“At least-" Bellamy cut himself off quick, and the next thing to leave his lips was, “O?”

Murphy had to resist the urge to groan. He'd been having a pretty decent evening, and he was certain that she was going to ruin it. 

“Hey, Bell. Raven, Clarke, good to see you.”

He wasn't offended that she was ignoring his presence. It was preferable to being punched in the face, at least. He knew that it was likely that she would never warm to him, and he was determined to be fine with that. Despite that part of him still feared that Octavia’s disdain would inevitably make Bellamy more wary of him. 

“Hey, Octavia, glad you're back,” Clarke said, her voice soft and fond, clearly meaning it.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you, too,” Raven added, sounding more flippant and less genuine.

“How'd you sleep?” Bellamy asked quickly, throwing off the conversation and making it feel rather disjointed. 

“Fine. It was a tiring journey. Lincoln’s still asleep, I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Where have you guys been all this time, anyway?” Raven asked. Murphy was pleased that she'd given voice to the question that he didn't have enough friendship points to ask but had been wondering about all day.

“On a rig. One of Lincoln’s friends, Luna, is the leader there. They call themselves Floukru.”

“Floukru…” Clarke repeated back quietly, intrigue lacing her tone. Murphy knew Clarke well enough that he was hardly surprised that she was taking an interest in the mention of a new group of grounders. She always felt the need to be aware of everything, to keep track of all the moving pieces around them. And while her astuteness could get tiring, it was also undeniably impressive. “What’s it like there?”

“Oh, you know…dull. I mean, the people are incredibly nice and it's a great community, but I never want to eat another fish as long as I live. And they didn't allow weapons on the rig, which has made training a pain in the ass.”

“So you're glad to be back?” Bellamy sounded hopeful. Like a puppy that'd been patiently waiting for a bone for months now and was finally about to get it. Murphy tried to stifle the irritation that reared up within him by reminding himself that, as an only child, he would never be able to understand what it was like to have a sister and therefore could not judge Bellamy for his weird, needy, co-dependence. 

“For now,” Octavia mumbled noncommittally, unwilling to give Bellamy the answer he was fishing for. “I was definitely pleased to hear about the alliance. It takes a target off Lincoln, and made coming here possible.” She paused and Murphy heard the sound of something scratching against metal, then a sigh. “So. What've I missed?”

“Honestly? Not much.”

“What about the commander? You guys got to meet her, right? To talk about…Murphy.” She said his name like it was a bad word. Poison on her tongue that she wanted to spit out quick. Had he been confident he knew where the exit was, he would have made his way over to it in order to avoid what would no doubt be an unbearably uncomfortable conversation.

“Yes, we did,” Clarke answered, her voice impartial. She sounded like a leader now, like it was necessary for her to emulate the commander in order for her to discuss her. “She’s a good leader. Reasonable and smart.” And that was certainly high praise coming from someone who Murphy considered to be essentially the dictionary definition of both of those words. 

“Is that why you're going to Polis, Clarke?” Murphy asked, sick to death of being quiet for Octavia’s sake. If she didn't like him being here, well screw her, she could leave. He'd been sitting here first. And these were _his_ friends. The ones he hadn't abandoned to go live on some hippy-dippy oil rig.

“What do you mean?” Clarke questioned, sounding unmistakably confused. 

“You want to see the commander again, don't you?”

“I do think there's a lot she could teach us, yes.”

Ha. He was extremely pleased by his observational skills. He didn't need to see Clarke to be able to read her like a book. She’d been all awed by the commander and wanted to meet back up with her so that they could commiserate about being young girls with big responsibilities. Which sounded nice to him. Then maybe Clarke would find the sort of unique understanding that no one else could possibly offer her.

“You’re going to Polis?” Octavia asked, excitement notable in her tone. Eagerness, even.

“Oh no you don’t. You just got here, I’m not letting you rush off to Polis,” Bellamy told her, his voice stern and brotherly. Yet there was such love evident in it that it was clear Octavia still had him wrapped around each and every one of her fingers.

“But I’ve always wanted to see it! Lincoln makes it sound incredible.”

“Hey, Arkadia is pretty nice. You even have a double bed here! Murphy and I…”

Oh fuck. Bellamy was stupid. That fact was simply not up for discussion anymore. It’d just been definitively proven.

The room drained of all sound for an unbearably long time. It made Murphy passionately crave death and he wished he could see how uncomfortable everyone was. He imagined their expressions would be pretty amusing.

“Murphy and you, what?” Octavia asked, her voice slow and stilted. Waiting to pounce.

“Um…Are…you know, sharing a room, and it's not a very good one. I saved the good one for you.”

It wasn’t the worst save ever, but it made Murphy’s cheeks feel hot and his hands clench themselves into loose fists. He couldn't identify what he was feeling at first, but then it dawned on him that he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed that Bellamy was embarrassed by him. Embarrassed that his boyfriend would go to such lengths to keep his sister from knowing they were dating, and that Raven and Clarke now knew these lengths.

There was a healthy helping of anger within him, too, though. Part of him busy questioning why Bellamy was even dating him if he was so fucking ashamed of their relationship. And it was only going to get worse. There'd be more lies, more sneaking around behind Octavia's back, more desperation. He wasn't in the mood for it. To have to act like idiotic children simply because Octavia had a giant stick up her ass that she'd love nothing more than to pull out and beat him with. He’d wanted to respect Bellamy enough to let him tell her whenever he was ready, but now he was too irritated to care. Bellamy was being dismissive of _his_ feelings, so he'd just go right on ahead and be dismissive of Bellamy’s back.

“We’re dating,” he stated simply. Keeping his voice dry as a stale cracker. Measured and careful, and far more calm than he truly felt.

Silence reigned supreme again. He felt a bit bad for Raven and Clarke, having to be in the room for this despite that it had nothing to do with them. But then again, the camp was always so damn dull that they should count themselves lucky for getting a taste of a little risk-free drama. The sort that they could be mere spectators to, impartial but intrigued. 

“Right, hilarious, Murphy. As if my brother would ever date you,” Octavia said finally, her voice shaky. She was uncertain but hopeful. Clearly praying this was one big joke. Which really, Murphy had to admit, it would have been a pretty funny ruse had it been a joke. But he took his relationship with Bellamy far more seriously than he took most things, so it didn’t feel especially humorous to him now.

“I am…” Bellamy finally whispered, the words coming out like the dark confession of a man waiting for the guillotine to drop. Who had no hope of getting away with his crimes now, and was left with no other choice but to tell the world and hope for God's sweet mercy.

Murphy wanted to smack him.

Gently, of course. But hard enough to get his utter disgust across. 

“You’re what, Bell?” Octavia asked, still keeping herself safe in the warm embrace of her dying denial. 

“Dating Murphy.”

Oh please. This was all far too dramatic for his taste. There was no way it should be this big of a deal. Couldn't they hurry things along a bit so they could get back to talking about Clarke and her relatively exciting trip to Polis?

“What? Why? Couldn't you have chosen to date, oh, I don’t know, literally anyone else?”

Literally? Come on. There was _literally_ way worse bastard than him out there. Like, he’d be the first to admit that he wasn't great, maybe not even good, but he could also be far, far worse. Octavia should at the very least acknowledge his irrefutable mediocrity.

“No. I love him, O. I just do.”

Hmm. Well, that was somewhat comforting. He appreciated the guts it must've taken to say such a blunt, ballsy thing to his sister. He also appreciated the way Bellamy's voice went soft and slow when he said such things. The way he clearly meant them.

But stupid Bellamy made it so hard to be peeved at him for more than approximately three and a half minutes. Murphy just wanted to cave and stop minding so much that he'd lied to his sister and tried to hide their relationship. He made him weak in a terrible way. And, honestly, Bellamy had never stated his feelings for him in such a straightforward fashion, so it was difficult not to buckle beneath their weight and worship at their altar.

“You love him?” Octavia’s voice was strained now, softer too, though it still carried a distinctive note of disbelief. Murphy couldn't fault her much for that, though, as he was shocked anew by Bellamy's love for him every time he was reminded of its existence. “Why?”

“I don't know, O. Why do you love Lincoln?”

“Because he's a good person. He's strong. He's handsome. He’s caring.”

Well shit, Bellamy definitely couldn't apply any of those answers to him. Murphy was certain he was bad, weak, ugly, and indifferent. And he was typically okay with that, but now as he tried to rack his brain for the real reasons Bellamy tolerated him and came up short of any viable explanations, he wasn’t quite as comfortable with his inadequacy.

“Alright…well, Murphy is…he’s very…”

Murphy stifled a laugh with his hand, entirely unoffended. It was really no wonder Octavia was questioning her brother's choices. He probably was too by this point. 

“Hey, no, Murphy, stop, there's plenty I love about you. Just not…that I really want to say in front of three other people, okay? Anyway, point is, he makes me happy, and really I think that should be enough. Can't you just be happy that I’m happy? I mean, I didn't approve of Lincoln at all at first either, but I saw how much you love him and I gave him a chance. Can't you do the same for me?”

“Bell,” Octavia whined, sounding put out by his request, though it was clear her resolve was weakening. It had to be. That little plea had tugged at Murphy’s heartstrings, and he hadn't even known he had any. “Shit, fine. I’ll give him a chance. I do want you to be happy…”

“Thank you,” Bellamy whispered, the words coming out like a breath of cold relief. Finally the tension in the room could be let out and Raven and Clarke could contribute to the conversation again. Murphy had been starting to regret having told her, but at least the worst of it was over. Now he'd just have to try to prove himself to her…somehow. Not that he cared a lick about her opinion. He did care about Bellamy’s, though, and Octavia was so important to him, he figured he should probably try to get along with her.

“Yeah…well…sorry about punching you earlier, Murphy…”

Oh? Was that an olive branch? How very unexpected.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” he told her, grinning at her. Hopefully. He was guessing from her voice that she was sitting on top of the table, but he could never be certain about these things. 

“I should go check on Lincoln,” she said suddenly, like she couldn't get away from him fast enough. Something scratched the table again, then there were footsteps, and a peaceful quiet.

“Your sister is still such a peach,” Murphy whispered, laughing uncomfortably. He felt like he'd been holding his breath the entire time she'd been in the room. In fact, he thought maybe she'd simply sucked all the air out of the room and left the rest of them awkwardly flailing about like fish in a net.

“You really don't want to insult my sister right now, Murphy.” There was an edge to Bellamy’s voice, a warning that would've made him nervous if he thought Bellamy was at all serious. He knew it was said for bravados sake, though. Bellamy was like a strutting peacock at times, flashing his feathers so that everyone knew he was willing to die for his sister’s sake. It was really a point of pride with him. 

“I’m not. Just saying how warm and fuzzy she is. Such a sweet, sweet girl.”

“She is!” Bellamy argued, sounding genuinely irritated now.

“Okay, sorry. Just don't get why she hates me so much.”

“To be fair, most people do.”

“Haha, Raven. You’re a peach, too.”

“Juicy and delicious?”

“Yeah, but I can't hit on you in front of Bellamy, so sssh.”

“Well. That settles it. I for one hate all of you,” Bellamy mumbled, obviously more amused than he was willing to let on.

“What the hell did I do wrong?” Clarke asked, a hint of laughter peeking through between her words.

“Yeah, and I thought you loved me for reasons you’re suspiciously unwilling to provide.”

“I do. And I’ll tell you one day. Right now, though, I’m trying really hard to be mad at you.”

“Why?”

“Because you had no right to tell Octavia that we're dating!”

“I had full right! I couldn't let you keep acting all ashamed of-"

“Oh my God, both of you shut up. I’ve already had to endure far too much of your relationship drama today.”

***

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**Chapter updates might slow down a bit because I, well writer's block (among other things) has made it so I just haven't been writing much lately honestly and really need to figure out how to get back in the swing of things. Very sorry...**

**Anyway, thank you for the comments: xXDBJonahXx, Socioskull, SwiftKaeden (congrats on the account!), and Slytherin100 (I really hope that things get easier for you). Also thanks for the bookmarks and kudos, guys. And thank you so much for reading!**

**~Hopefully I won't make you wait too long**


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